Indecent...Desires Page 8

  I sit back on the bed, ease the buzzing shaft between my legs and lose my breath as the first wave of pleasure surges through me, made all the more intense by the fact that I know Lucas can see me. There’s a remarkable sense of calm acceptance as my clit starts to throb and a corresponding wave of wet heat moistens my pussy. If this is over, if I have destroyed my chance of having Lucas Brady as my own, I will move on. It will hurt, but I will get there. And I will never settle for anything less than him ever again.

  On the other side of the street, Lucas stands, watching me, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. Why is he standing like that? I wonder. Why does he look so tense? Am I making him angry? Does he want me to stop? All he has to do is walk away, put an end to this. I will understand.

  But he doesn’t. Then it dawns on me. He wants to touch himself. But he isn’t, because I haven’t given him permission. I thought I had ended the game. Maybe I had. And maybe, just maybe, when I turned on my bedroom light and exposed myself to him, I started a new one. I spread my legs wider, ease the wet gusset of my knickers to the side, exposing my pussy. Then I touch the vibrator to my clit. The direct contact makes me squirm and jerk, so I do it again, and then I find my hole with the tip of the shaft, and I slowly, slowly ease it home. My entire body fills with the pulsing buzz of the toy as I look at Lucas, lift my free hand, and beckon him over.

  I’m not sure how I make it to the door to let him in, but I do. He stands there, filling my doorway, watching me with wary eyes as though he’s not quite sure how this is going to play out.

  But I do. ‘Lucas,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you that I’d agreed to go out with him. But nothing happened. I want you to know that.’

  ‘I understand,’ he says, swallowing hard, not meeting my gaze. ‘I get it, Meredith. Seriously, I do. I’m twenty-four, for Christ’s sake. I was an idiot to think you would be interested in me.’

  ‘I am interested in you!’ My voice is shrill, loud, and it makes my head hurt. ‘Martin Banks was a mistake. I agreed to go out with him and then I didn’t know how to get out of it. I wanted to. You have to believe me.’

  ‘Martin Banks told me that you’d been flirting with him for weeks,’ Lucas says coldly. ‘You chased him, Meredith.’

  ‘I made a mistake.’ More than the one, if I’m honest. I turn away from the door, suddenly ashamed by my state of undress, by that extra seven pounds, by my tummy-control knickers and the big vibrator in my hand.

  Lucas follows me inside, closes the door behind him. ‘Was I a mistake?’

  I stop where I am. I wrap my arms around my breasts. ‘Why are you here, Lucas?’ I ask, my voice faint. He’s so close, I could touch him, but it seems that we still have things to resolve before we can take things that far. ‘Why are you here with me, after what I’ve done?’

  ‘Because…’ He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Because I’ve never met anyone like you before. Because when I fantasised about being bossed around by an older woman, I never actually thought it would happen, and I certainly never imagined it would be someone like you.’ He drops his hand to his side. ‘I didn’t realise I would fall in love.’

  ‘Lucas,’ I say. ‘Oh, Lucas.’

  ‘I know I’m too young for you,’ he says. ‘I know I can’t offer you any of the things that he can.’

  ‘I only want you,’ I say, digging my hands into the front of his shirt. God, he’s so warm and strong and he smells so fucking good. Just being near him makes me feel calm and insanely aroused all at the same time. ‘And…’ I stop myself just in time.

  His fingers meet my chin and tip my head up. ‘And what?’

  I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a fierce flush as I face this final moment of truth. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say. I can’t meet his gaze. It’s enough to have him here, I tell myself. He is enough. I won’t screw this up by asking him for things I know he won’t want to give me, not on my timescale, anyway.

  ‘Yes, it does,’ he says. ‘This won’t work if we can’t be honest with each other, Meredith.’

  And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it. Honesty. ‘How did you get to be so smart?’ I say, trying to smile.

  ‘I’m self-employed,’ he says. ‘I watch a lot of Oprah. So come on, tell me what it is. Whatever wicked fantasy it is, you can share it with me, Meredith.’

  I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. I know it’s time for me to put something out there, something of me, and accept that I have no control over the consequences. What happens now is up to Lucas. ‘I…’ I try to breathe, but it’s difficult. ‘A baby,’ I mumble. ‘I want a baby. I want to be married, and I want to have a family. It’s not exactly naughty.’

  My whole body goes tense, as I wait for him to walk back out the door. But he doesn’t. He moves closer, instead. ‘Fuck, Meredith,’ he says. ‘I’ll give you a baby, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘But you’re twenty-four,’ I point out.

  ‘So?’

  ‘By the time you’re ready for that, I’ll be too old.’

  ‘You’re only thirty-four,’ he points out, and when he puts it like that, it doesn’t seem so old after all. It seems like nothing. ‘And who says I’m not ready now?’

  ‘And I suppose you won’t always be twenty-four,’ I say, thinking it through. At some point, this beautiful young man is going to be thirty, forty, seventy. And if I am lucky, I am going to get to watch him get there.

  ‘No,’ he agrees. ‘So you better make the most of it while you can.’

  I cup his face in my hands. ‘I love you,’ I say. ‘You are the most incredible man I ever met, Lucas Brady, and I’m sorry that I hurt you. I wanted to tell you how I felt, but I was too scared.’

  His arms come around me. ‘Scared of what?’

  ‘Scared that I’d tell you and you’d laugh at me. Beautiful twenty-four-year-old men don’t commit themselves to thirty-four-year-old divorcees.’

  ‘Sexy thirty-four-year-old divorcees don’t commit themselves to twenty-four-year-old men,’ he points out. ‘We’re too young, too feckless, too irresponsible.’

  My hands find his shoulders, and I drape myself around him. I can feel the thick ridge of his cock pressing against the softness of my belly. ‘Have you done something feckless, Lucas?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says, his breath a hot whisper against my neck. ‘I deserve to be punished. Please punish me, Meredith.’

  ‘What did you do?’ I ask.

  ‘I fell in love with an older woman,’ he replies. ‘It’s wrong of me, I know. But I couldn’t help myself. She’s beautiful and clever, and she makes me so fucking horny.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should take off your clothes,’ I say. ‘So that she can decide how best to punish you.’

  He strips hastily, baring that lean torso and that flawless skin and the hard jut of his cock. I walk slowly around him, letting my fingers trail over his body, loving his warmth, the way his muscles quiver under my touch, the way he groans when I introduce the palm of my hand to his arse.

  I move back to face him again, trail my hand over his chest, down his stomach, until I reach his cock, then I wrap my fingers around it in a firm, possessive grip. ‘Come with me,’ I say. I lead him into my bedroom, position him in front of the window, sideways on. The light is on, but I turn it off. I have a different sort of punishment in mind for him today. Leaving him there, I lean over and open the window.

  ‘I want you to touch yourself,’ I say. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says, his voice quivering with excitement.

  ‘I’ve opened the window,’ I tell him. ‘So you need to be quiet. Is that clear?’

  He nods. I circle him slowly, then, letting my nails scrape over his nipples, his balls. I want him hard and aching and desperate, begging me to let him come. His hands clench into fists at his sides. ‘You are not to make any sound,’ I say. ‘No matter what happens. And you are not to come.’

  One large hand wraps around his thick length and s
tarts to pump. He lifts the other to his mouth, licks it, and then starts to work himself two handed.

  ‘You like to be watched,’ I say.

  He opens his mouth, as if to speak, but stops himself at the last minute.

  ‘Dirty boy,’ I say. ‘Letting people see you behaving like this.’ And then I do something I can’t believe I’m doing. I pick up my hairbrush from the table at the side of the bed. I test its weight in my hand, and then I spank him firmly on the arse with it.

  His whole body jerks, and he bites down on his bottom lip. His pleasure is almost palpable, full of joy, and it turns me on more than I can even begin to describe. I spank him again, on the other arse cheek, adding a matching pink glow to that side. God, this is wrong. I know it is. It isn’t about punishment, not really. I’m spanking him simply because I like it. And because he likes it.

  He is mine to control, to do with what I will, and that realisation humbles me. He is trusting me with something very precious, this beautiful man. That is why, when I hear his first mumbled ‘I need to come,’ I set down the brush.

  ‘I told you to be quiet,’ I remind him, as I kneel on the bed, my back to him. ‘Now come here, and fuck me.’

  I place my hands on the mattress, angling my hips up. Strong hands find my backside, grip it firmly, then I feel the thick head of his cock nudging my slit. ‘You are to fuck me until I come,’ I tell him. ‘You are to stay quiet, and you are not to come.’

  He settles himself in closer behind me, giving me another inch of his thick length. I’m so wet that I can feel moisture making its way down my thighs. ‘You may begin,’ I instruct him. And begin he does. ‘Harder.’

  He thrusts more, deeper, but I sense that he is still holding back, and I can’t have that. ‘Harder,’ I say again. And this time, he obeys me, fucking into me with a fierce desperation that makes me scream. Still, he stays silent, as I give in to the rising urge in my body and cry out every surge of pleasure, as he fucks me so deep and so hard that I am not sure where I end and he begins. And then, unbidden, he wraps a hand around my waist and reaches between my legs and caresses my aching, sensitive clit, and I would berate him for it but he does it with such exquisite tenderness that I am quite undone.

  He is caring for me, I think to myself. He loves me. It seems unthinkable, but I know it to be true. I know it without question, that when he holds himself back like this, he is thanking me for making him. ‘I’m coming,’ I say. ‘Fuck, Lucas. I’m coming.’

  ‘I know, darling. I know.’

  And as the wave hits me, I remember one thing. ‘You can come, Lucas.’ And then I am lost, drowned in the depths of the fierce bond between us, as I feel him spurt hot and thick inside me, filling my pussy with his lovely thick semen, fulfilling my most indecent desire. ‘You’re not wearing a condom,’ I whisper, as he rests his head on my back, his fingers tangling with mine.

  ‘I forgot,’ he says lazily. ‘Give me half an hour, and I might forget again.’

  ‘I’ll have to punish you,’ I warn him.

  ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I think that you will.’

  Epilogue

  ‘Lucas!’ I yell, as I pull on my trousers. ‘Where the hell is my hairbrush?’ I’m going to be late for work again, I know I am. That makes the third time in as many weeks. Keep this up, and it’s going to become a habit. Not that anyone at work seems to mind. They’ve all become very protective of me, constantly asking me if I need to sit down, or if I want another biscuit.

  ‘Where did you have it last?’ comes the yell from the kitchen, shortly followed by ‘Found it!’

  ‘Found it where?’ I yell back, as I fasten my trousers and attempt to squash myself into a blouse that doesn’t really fit. I give up, toss it onto the bed and pull on one of Lucas’s shirts instead.

  ‘Where you left it!’ comes the reply. ‘Got to go. Love you!’

  The door slams, and he’s gone, leaving me alone in the quiet of our flat. It used to be his flat, now it’s ours. I gave mine up because it was easier to move my clothes than to move his entire collection of random wires, and because my flat reminded me of who I used to be, and, well, I’m just not that person any more, thank god.

  Lucas has made sure of that.

  Tugging the edges of his shirt together over the firm jut of my belly, I make my way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen in search of food. I know Lucas will have left me something. He always does. Today, it’s a half-peeled banana stuck in a jar of nutella. I pull it out, take a bite and can’t hold back a grin. He’ll pay for it later.

  I’m sure he knows it, too.

  Right now, however, I have more important things to do than think about all of his transgressions, like finding my hairbrush and finding my shoes and getting myself to work on time. I finish the banana, toss the peel in the bin and go in search of my brush. I distinctly remember using it on him last night. I asked him to paint my toenails, because quite frankly I can’t reach them, and he put his hand somewhere he shouldn’t.

  One thing led to another, and before I knew it, he was bent over the arm of the sofa with his lush arse on show, begging me to discipline him. My hairbrush has got to be in the living room somewhere, I decide. But it’s not shoved down the side of the sofa, or the armchair, and I distinctly heard Lucas say that he’d found it.

  So where?

  I plant my hands on my hips and scan the room. We painted in here, and it’s now a cheery shade of yellow, with a potted palm in the corner and photographs all over the walls. Photographs of the two of us, the last twelve months captured in sharp black and white. So many happy memories, so many smiles.

  But I don’t have time to indulge myself now. I have to get moving. I hate being late. So I check the sofa and the armchair again, and the desk in the corner. I think about looking under the sofa, then decide that the chance of me not being able to get back up again is too great. Lucas says I look amazing. I tell him I look more like a beached whale, but to be honest, I don’t care. I wanted this for too long to be unhappy.

  And then I see it. Over on the windowsill. I make my way over, pick up my brush and run it through my hair. There’s something underneath it, a folded piece of notepaper, sitting on top of a neat black velvet bag.

  I stare at the bag for a moment, then I unfold the note.

  Dear soon-to-be-Mrs-Brady, it says. I want to thank you for punishing me last night. It was wrong of me to touch your pussy when I was supposed to be painting your toenails, but it is so pretty that just thinking about it makes my cock very hard. I didn’t mean to be bad, but I just couldn’t help myself. I am very worried that I will be bad again tonight. So just in case, I have bought you something that you can use to paddle my behind. Apparently it will sting even more than your hairbrush, but I probably deserve it.

  Love, Lucas.

  p.s. this way, you won’t keep losing your hairbrush and being late for work

  I slowly reach out my hand and pick up the black velvet bag, then loosen the drawstring that holds it tightly closed. I slip my hand inside, and find something flat and smooth and hard. I draw it out, and suddenly find it hard to breathe. The leather is soft and smooth to the touch, and the weight of it feels perfect in my hand. I take the handle, turn it over, turn it over again, run my fingertip over the neat stitching that runs around the edge of the flat, oval surface. I smile, feel an overwhelming rush of love for him. Lucas, I think to myself, I am so happy that you’re mine.

  And then I make a note of all the ways I am going to make him pay for it.

  CARINA™

  ISBN: 978 1 472 09473 5

  Indecent…Desires

  Copyright © 2014 Jane O’Reilly

  Published in Great Britain (2014)

  by Carina, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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