*****
The front door swooshes and in steps Ryan, smiling disarmingly as he strolls over to me. He looks
amazing, in a white linen shirt, well pressed dark trousers and his shoes highly polished.
I wasn’t expecting him. It’s only 2 pm and hours before I finish for the day. I would like to chat, but the
phone rings and I must deal with the call, spending five minutes trying to give directions for the Haswell
Building to visitors who speak only very broken English in a Japanese accent. Just as I put the phone
down, the doors open once more to admit a delivery man bringing in new office furniture and needing a
pass into the building. Then a maintenance man needs pointing at a problem elevator….
I roll my eyes apologetically at Ryan, but he holds up his hands, smiling. “Chill out,” he says. “you have
a job to do. I’m in no hurry.”
Smiling gratefully, I head-point him at the coffee machine. “Help yourself.” He pours two cups, placing
one on my desk and sipping from the other as he seats himself to wait.
And as he watches me from his seat while I work, his eyes dark, compelling, from the edge of my mind
not involved in the minutiae of my work, I know that this man is taking me, body and soul.
Finally, the stream of visitors passes and I can pay attention to…. my Lover….
When did I start to think of him that way?
As he sees that I am free once more, he stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders, stooping to
whisper close by me. “I’ve been thinking about you. I called by because I wanted to tell you that.”
“Really?” My panties are growing damp already.
“Mmmm…. yes, really. And you should see the things I’ve been doing to you in my head.”
And, my blood starting to sing, he pauses, sliding his hand down inside the top of my blouse. I think he
is going to cup a breast, but instead, his palm comes to rest on my chest.
“Your heart is beginning to race.” he murmurs. “I like that. By the time I get you back to my apartment
later, you should be screaming for me to fuck you….”
“We’ll not be going back to a hotel?”
“Not this time. I told you, I want to learn to know you better. I’ve taken an apartment here in the City. I’ll
take you there later. And do you know something else?”
“What?”
“I’m not going to fuck you until you beg me to….”
My stomach flutters and my pussy is clenching.
Jeez…. he knows how to fuck with the inside of my head….
…. but in a good way….
“…. And I’ll leave you to think about that until this evening.” With a smile in his voice, he kisses my
cheek. “I’ll see you later; pick you up at six. Yes?”
“Yes.”
*****
Later, in his car, Ryan driving me to his new apartment, I have spent all afternoon thinking on his words
and I am aflame.
I always carry a change of underwear in my bag, and today I needed it. Not that it did any good.
Between my legs, a sopping heat sucks against my thighs and I sit uneasily, trying to get comfortable,
to find some relief for my swollen and sensitive sex.
Surreptitiously, I press my hands down on my thighs, trying to rub my clit without Ryan noticing. He
stares out to the road ahead, only looking to one side or the other for the traffic.
He pulls in to the underground car park of a block of apartments in the good end of town. Inside, the
building is expensively carpeted, beautifully furnished and well decorated.
“I chose a place with a view over the park,” he comments as he turns the key and then holds out his
hand to let me in first.
The apartment is only half furnished, with cardboard boxes stacked in one corner.
“Sorry about the state of the place,” he says. “I’m only half moved in yet. Wine?”
Already trembling, I struggle to keep my voice steady, but he’s not fooled, watching me through lidded
eyes as I respond. “Thank you. Yes.”
Ryan has a bottle and glasses waiting. Pouring two ruby glasses, he passes one to me. “I would offer
you something to eat first,” he says, “but since it’s not food that you’re hungry for right now, I think we’ll
leave the dining until later.”
Lost for words, suddenly bashful, I look up at him and then away again.
He chuckles, soft and low. “Just because I didn’t react in the car, doesn’t mean I didn’t notice. You’re
feeling horny, which was exactly my intention when I visited you this afternoon. I wanted you to spend a
few hours thinking about what we might do together this evening.” He pauses, I think waiting for his
words to take effect, then, “I enjoyed seeing you trying to touch yourself without my noticing.”
My face flaming, I simply don’t know where to look. I don’t consider myself an easy conquest. Normally,
I take a man on my own terms and to hell with him if he doesn’t like it. But this one….
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says. “As I say, I wanted you to be thinking about me, and I know that
when you were touching yourself, you really wanted me to be touching you. I like that, very much.”
He points a long finger towards a door. “In the bedroom….” he says.
Inside, he turns the light on low. The room is not over-furnished, but there is a chest of drawers, a
wardrobe, a vast bed, which looks brand-new, and a chair, placed in front of a very large mirror and
with a small side-table.
The chair is heavily sculpted in some antique wood, of the type that might be the carver chair at the
head of a table. It gleams chestnut and gold in the dim light and the leather covered seat smells of
beeswax.
It seems an odd choice for a semi-furnished apartment.
He leans over me, my spine pressed against the wall. A single finger touching me, he traces a line over
my lips, along the side of my cheek and down my neck. It continues down along my breastbone to the
top of my cleavage. The finger pauses at the top button of my low-cut blouse.
“Take it off,” he says, “slowly.”
My breathing rate increasing, I slip the buttons free, gradually…. one by one. As the blouse falls open,
his gaze is downward toward my breasts as I slide it from my shoulders.
“Now the bra,” he instructs.
Obediently, I reach back to unclip, again letting it fall from my shoulders.
“Play with your nipples,” he says. “I want to see them hard for me.”
This isn’t difficult. Already awash with arousal, the calm measured commands of this man….
My Lover?
My…. Master?
…. are setting my pulse racing and my already willing pussy thrumming. As cool air washes over my
skin, they pucker to hard nubs which, as I roll and pluck them betwixt finger and thumb, pebble up
completely.
Unable to draw enough breath without panting, my lips are parted, and heat blooms over my naked
skin, as bare-breasted, I wait for his next words.
“Now your skirt. Take it off.”
Still, he doesn’t touch me, instead holding me with his gaze. Swallowing hard, I unzip and start to slide
the garment over my hips….
“Slowly,” he says.
Inch by inch, I glide the satiny fabric over hip and thigh, brushing over skin that flushes hot, glistening
with perspiration. As it falls to the floor, I step out of it, leaving myself in only high heels and black lace
panties.
I’m beginning to tremble. Still, he makes no move to touch me with his hands, instead, enclosing me
against the wall between his arms.
His head drops to nuzzle against my neck, his breath hot and sweet and spicy as he mouths at my
heating skin. My knees are quivering, beginning to buckle.
“Ryan, I can’t stand properly, you have me trapped against the wall.”
“Well, that’s where you hang a fucking masterpiece,” he mutters, as he plants his mouth over mine. He
kisses me as though he has never kissed me before and will never kiss me again, and as the blood
pounds through my veins, I whimper.
Still, he only touches me with his mouth, and as he breaks from the kiss, he nods across the room.
His voice, deeply masculine, like honeyed silk, “On the bed.”
I turn to the bed, expecting him to follow me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits in the chair, legs
outstretched and crossed at the ankles, sitting to face me. A little unsure as to what he is asking of me,
I lie down, but….
“No, not like that. I want to see you.”
Still, I hesitate. “Sit on the bed,” he says. “You tried to hide it from me before, but I want to see you
touching yourself. Play with your breasts. Show me.”
Ryan is still fully dressed and I am all but naked. A little self-consciously, I seat myself on the edge of
the bed to face him. Ryan sits, his face resting on thumb and forefinger from the chair arm, the dim
lighting picking out contoured shadows from his face, and gilded highlights from the polished timber of
the chair. His eyes, always dark, are deeply shaded and his hair picks up golden accents in the light.
“That’s it,” he says. “Now, show yourself to me. I want to see what’s mine.”
I hesitate at his choice of words….
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