“It was perfect,” he smiled. “Jesus, Faye, you came like a fucking train.”
I looked at him through hazy eyes, and he looked amazing. “Fuck me,” I said. “Please fuck me.”
He didn’t need asking twice, sliding his cock inside me in one long stroke. I was ready, so ready I gasped at the sensation. He adjusted position, pressing my knees up to my chest, and he took me slow, slow and deep. I gripped at the sheets under me as the pressure started to rebuild.
His balls were heavy, slapping against my ass as he picked up pace, and it felt so right this way. I coaxed him, needing him, needing more, and he gave me more, hard and fast, and I jerked underneath him as he pumped and grunted and his body took its release within mine. Hearing him come in the quiet of the bedroom was divine. It felt different here, so different, so much more intimate. The thought made my stomach lurch.
He pressed his forehead against mine as he caught his breath, and I smiled as the revelation of what had just occurred sunk in.
“What’s funny?” he asked, and he was smiling, too.
It tickled me. The whole thing tickled me, and I shifted from underneath him, rolling onto my side as he nipped my shoulder in punishment. “Speak, Faye. Use that smart pissing mouth and answer the question.”
“It’s nothing,” I protested. “Just something stupid.”
“What?”
I tipped my head to meet his eyes, and his were already darkening, ready for more.
“It’s just, us…” I said. “This.” I gestured to the room, but he didn’t seem to understand. Like he ever understands. The endorphins made me giggle. “We just had vanilla sex. Vanilla sex, Andy, I can’t even remember the last time that happened.”
“Vanilla?” he smiled. “Was that boring for you?”
“No,” I laughed. “No way! Just… weird…”
“You act like it’s over. It’s far from over, Faye. That was just the fucking prologue.” He smiled at his choice of words, pressed his fingers to my throat, and my laughter dried up. “Let’s see how vanilla chapter fucking one is, shall we?”
***
Chapter Seventeen
Andy
Infuriating and ridiculous, this thing was fucking insane. This thing was a firework about to explode in my face, and send my whole bastard business up in flames along with it. I should have put a stop to it, drawn a line, the sensible line. But it was her, Faye Devere, queen of getting under your skin and staying there, and as much as I hated it, as much as I wanted to tell her to piss off and actually mean it, as much as I wanted to ship her back off to Italy and resume normal life without stupid games and complications, I was still reaching for her hand. Still leading her, wide-eyed, with that temping little smirk on her face, from her bedroom, my guestroom, into my actual bed. The threshold was more than a doorway, it was a whole other level of involved, and she knew it. She paused before crossing, hanging back at arm’s length with a cocky eyebrow raised on that pretty, devious face of hers.
“Whoa,” she said. “What’s this?”
“What does it look like?”
She dug her heels in, just enough that her pretty tits bounced. “We’re doing this?”
I yanked her forwards. “Apparently so.”
She slammed into my body, and her arms folded around my neck. Her lips were smiling as they met mine, and my hands were all over her, coming to rest against her face as I walked us backwards towards my bed. She broke off the kiss with a filthy giggle, then did a twirl, taking in the room.
“Nice,” she said. “Very… masculine.”
I shrugged. “If you say so.”
I followed her eyes as they wandered. Grey walls, with deep charcoal drapes, tasteful without fuss. My beside cabinets were more cluttered than I’d have liked, too much insight for Faye’s greedy, inquisitive mind. Business cards, and a pile of old photos, keys and business notes. She soaked it in and turned her attention to the bed. It was considerably bigger than hers, a tumble of heavy white bedding that I’d vacated in a hurry. My dressing gown was in a crumpled heap at the foot, not that I ever used the thing. Not before I had a guest in the house. Needs must. Only now there were no needs, we’d well and truly crossed that fucking line. She nodded her head as the full scale of the mirrored wardrobes became apparent.
“I see…”
“You will see, that’s the point.”
“Call him Mr Vain.”
“Call him Mr likes to see who he’s fucking from any angle he chooses.” I was bluffing. They’d been installed post Faye departing for Italy, post the wane of my appetite for random submissive pussy, but she didn’t need to know that. I unhooked a selection of shirts I’d put up for ironing, casting them aside to free the entire scope of the mirrors, then I watched her reflection and Faye watched me watching her. She dipped her head, looking up through mischievous eyes, and her posture shifted, heavy on one hip, the curve of her waist accentuated and beautiful. She ran a hand down the slope of her body as I watched, brushing over her hip to the toned flesh of her thighs, and then up again, dipping her fingers between her legs. I swallowed. “Well well, Faye. Here we are.”