He moves again, kneeling by my side and encouraging me over onto my back. As if I've been thoroughly drugged, I move like a rag doll under his touch. There are no two ways about it: he's got me totally in his control. I'd do anything for him.
'I don't mind a bit of back door action,' I offer.
'Later, maybe.' He brushes a finger across my stomach. 'When I've got my kink on.'
An exquisite contraction erupts out of nowhere, a flood of heat deep in my core. He's breathing fast now, obviously just as aroused as me, but instead of getting on with it, he seems determined to kiss me to death. Straddling me again, he leans down, sweeping his lips across my neck. I turn my head to one side, allowing him more access, and he makes the most of it, skimming his mouth from the bottom of my ear down to my shoulders.
'A hundred years,' he murmurs, 'should go to praise thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze.' He lifts his head, watching for my reaction, but I have no idea what sort of reaction to give. What the hell's he going on about?
'Pardon?'
'Poetry.'
'Oh.'
I suppose that's what you get for going out with a man who studied literature at university, and then got thrown out ... and then spent two years in the wilderness. You have no idea what he got up to, my brain reminds me. And you're letting him do this to you? My thoughts must have spilled out onto my face, and he seems to have noticed.
'What's wrong?'
'Nothing.'
'Relax then. Where was I?'
I groan as his mouth travels further, down to my breasts, setting me alight with new sensations. His lips latch onto my right nipple and he sucks gently. And while my pulse soars, I gaze at the mop of blond hair that's right in front of me. It's far too tempting. I dig my fingers into it.
'Behave, Maya.' Raising his head, he smiles at me. 'Hands up.'
'Or what?'
He grabs hold of my wrists, manoeuvres my arms back into place. 'I'll think of something.'
Pushing out an exasperated sigh, I resign myself to my fate. It's all I can do. Seeing as I've already given him my complete submission, there's really no point in arguing. His lips are already back on my skin, batting any logical thoughts to one side. Moving to my left nipple, he sucks and releases, slowly, over and over again. When he's finally finished, his eyes meet mine.
'Two hundred to adore each breast. Are we in a tizzy, Miss Scotton?'
'Yes. Get on with it. Go there.'
'Where?'
'You know. There.'
'But I'm in no rush. Thirty thousand to the rest.'
'No,' I groan.
'An age at least to every part.'
He lowers his head again, running his mouth between my breasts, across my stomach, smelling me, tasting me with lazy, unhurried movements. I'm a gargantuan, sweaty mess by the time he returns to my crotch. Breaking contact, he looks up at me, his eyes glinting.
'And the last age should show your heart,' he whispers, his voice deep and smooth.
I raise my head from the pillow. 'You … you already have my heart,' I manage to stammer.
'I know that, Maya. I'm reciting a poem. Go with it.'
I smile and let my head fall back.
'For lady, you deserve this state.' He runs a hand across my pubic hair. 'Nor would I love at lower rate.'
I quiver inside. 'Love?'
'Did I say you could talk?'
'No. Sorry.'
'Bloody woman, ruining my poem.'
'It's not your poem.' I'm betting on that.
'Correct, it's Andrew Marvell's poem and he was a dirty bugger, I can tell you. Now, spread these legs.'
Yes! At last! And about time too! Don't get me wrong. I'm in seventh heaven here, on top of the world, drunk on ecstasy, but now I need the release. He takes a while to run his fingers across my clitoris, sweeping further down to my vagina. And then he leans in, his warm tongue lapping at my labia while a finger enters me, finding just the right spot and massaging me from the inside. Gripping the pillow, I moan and groan, drowning in a floodtide of delicious warmth, wanting nothing more than to run my hands across the muscles of his broad shoulders, but I'm under orders. I must resist.
I'm teetering on the edge when he finally comes to a halt.
'And now for some real poetry.' Slowly, he lowers himself onto me.
I feel his cock at my opening, sliding its way in, filling me perfectly like it always does. He pauses, wraps a hand under my buttocks and smiles into my eyes before he begins. Withdrawing to the hilt, he eases back in again, over and over, with the same controlled, unhurried movements, keeping it up until my insides become super-charged.
'Oh Jesus, fuck! Go quicker.'
'I'm taking this slowly,' he retorts, barely out of breath. 'I've put in the groundwork, laid the footings if you like.'
'Oh.' I swallow back a grunt. 'Builders' talk.'
'Exactly. Now when you've spent all that time on the foundations, you don't want to rush the erection, do you?'
With a devilish grin, he drives into me again, sending me to the edge of sanity, and I just can't resist any more. My hands fly up to him, fingers clutching at his hair, pulling frantically. I move on to his shoulders, digging in as the pressure intensifies.
'I'll come,' I gasp. 'I can't hold it. I'll come.'
'Come all you like.' He brushes his lips against mine. 'I could do this forever.'
'Shit, no.'
'Shit, yes. Tantric sex.'
And then the joking stops. Our eyes connect. Secured by his gaze and helpless beneath him, I let it all go as, moaning as my muscles seem to implode. A deep, long orgasm undulates inside me, rippling outwards and clutching at his cock. Soaking it all up, I'm lost in a Never-Never land of ecstasy. And through it all, he keeps up the same steady rhythm, holding me tight.
Time backs out of the room, leaving us in oblivion, and at first I hear nothing apart from the sound of my own breathing, my heartbeat pounding inside my head. But then it filters through. His breathing has picked up pace too, and it's coming to pieces. He's struggling to control himself. His hands tighten against my skin as the pressure begins to build again. Forcing his head in towards me, I press my lips against his, kissing him with a feverish passion. And he kisses me right back, his tongue probing my mouth while his muscles stiffen. For all his trash talk, he won't be able to hold on for much longer.
'Fuck it,' he growls.
Finally reaching breaking point, he ratchets up the tempo. With his eyes fixed on mine, his pupils dilated and his lips open, he drives into me relentlessly, and spurred on by the intensity of his pounding, a second climax builds in my core. Sensing the tension in his back, I hold my breath, feel him jolt as I come to the boil. Knowing that it's time, I release myself again, tripping over the edge into pure bliss while he empties himself inside me.
'Jesus!' he cries out, continuing to thrust.
For a minute or so, he slows the rhythm, bringing us both down from an intense high. Steadying me in his grip, he kisses me tenderly, riding through the aftershocks until we both begin to slide into a post-coital fug. At last he flops on top of me, digging his head into my neck. I run my fingers up and down his back, through his hair, and I feel it again, that incredible attachment between us. At times like this, we're one.
'You're rubbish at tantric sex,' I grin.
He lifts his head. 'It's you. You make me want to go hell for leather.'
He nudges his face back into my neck.
'I love you, Dan. You're the most infuriating man I've ever met, but I bloody love you.'
I feel his smile against my skin and I wait for the words to be returned. Surely, this is the moment. But nothing comes. When he finally pushes himself up, balancing on his elbows, he's already super serious.
'Remember what I said on Friday?'
I flick through the memories but thanks to Boyd's involvement, it's all a blur.
He helps me out. 'I want you to move in. Here. With me.'
I'm flummoxed, again.
'And I want you to slow down,' I counter. 'It's too soon. Three weeks.'
'I'm sure other people do it in three weeks.'
'But … '
'Listen.' He shifts slightly, moving his weight onto his left elbow and sliding his right hand onto my chest, just above my heart. 'In here, does it feel like the right thing to do?'
'Yes, but I hardly know you.'
Because you're a puzzle, Mr Foster. And I want every last part of it in place before we go any further with this.
'You know me better than anyone else. You didn't say no on Friday.'
'That was before … ' I trail off into silence, spotting the concern on his face. That was before Limmingham. I watch the shadows settle in his eyes. 'It's not that,' I add quickly. 'It's not because of where you came from.'
'Then what is it?'
'I just want to know more before I commit to something like that. I just wonder how many more Dan bombshells you've got to drop on me.'
'Bombshells?'
I gaze up into his eyes, but I just can't work out what I'm seeing there now.
'I want you to open up to me. I don't want any more surprises.'
The seconds tick by as he watches me, and God knows what he's thinking about. In all probability, he's rifling his way through all the secrets he's keeping, wondering which bombshells he can drop and which ones to keep stored away. Finally, he pecks me on the lips and withdraws.