'What?' I gasp. 'You're going to ask about my favourite sandwich while you're … '
'Doing this?' he grins, sliding the finger into my vagina.
'Oh.'
'Oh, Miss Scotton, you're so wet.' He bites his lip. 'Now, what is your favourite sandwich?'
I almost laugh. Almost. But it's pretty much impossible with Dan's finger causing all sorts of havoc inside. Waiting for an answer, he begins to massage me, but not for long. Removing the finger, he replaces it with two, gently thrumming them against the inside of my clitoris while his thumb squeezes rhythmically at the outside. I take in a deep breath, fighting the need to moan again.
'Ah … I don't know.' I can barely think already. A knot of warmth has formed deep inside.
'Cheese or ham?'
'Oh shit. Prawns. Prawn salad.'
'Duly noted.' He picks up the pace, pushing a little further inwards, knowing exactly which spots to hit. 'Mine's a BLT, by the way. Favourite drink?'
Assuming a serious face, he waits for an answer, but I just can't give him one. The knot has doubled in size, and now it's pulsating outwards. Suddenly, I seem to be close to hyperventilating.
He helps me out. 'Oh, that's a no-brainer. Dry white wine, preferably in a pint glass. And mine's a decent whisky.'
'Stop.'
'No.'
Lowering his mouth to mine, he kisses me deeply, and while he's otherwise engaged, I take advantage of the situation, moving my legs together, just a little. I need to come, and it needs to be soon, and closing the gap can only help matters. Breaking the kiss, he shakes his head. Oh bugger. He's noticed. And I have no choice: obediently, I part my legs again.
'Favourite meal.'
'This … ' The fingers probe further. In an instant, my brain turns to mush. It's a miracle I manage to finish the sentence. 'This is … childish.'
Ignoring my complaint, he leans down, taking my right nipple between his lips and sucking slowly, gently at times, harder at others. Tingles of pleasure cascade throughout my breast, and I'm lost. I hear a long, low moan and I know that it's mine. Finally, after what seems like an age, he lets go.
'This is small talk,' he reminds me. 'You asked for it. Favourite meal.'
'Spaghetti,' I gulp. 'Puttanesca.'
'What a coincidence.' He smiles brightly. 'Now, let's see.' He lowers his mouth to my left nipple. Sealing his lips around it, he repeats the process while the fingers continue to work me into a frenzy down below. I'm barely conscious when he raises his head again.
'Tell me something. Where's your favourite place for a holiday?'
'No,' I cry.
'Oh come on, Maya.' The fingers begin to circle now, exploring the depths of my muscles.
'I don't know.' My voice jumps through the air. 'Cornwall,' I splurt.
'Cornwall?' The fingers move deeper still, rubbing against my g-spot. 'Nowhere a little more exotic?'
I catch my breath and force out the words, one by one. 'I've … never … been … abroad.' I gasp, and then I pant. He presses his thumb against my clit, sending a super-charged bolt of energy through my nerves.
'Never?' He eyes me, quizzically.
'Never. I've got a passport. Lucy … Lucy made me get it. Never used it.'
'Then we shall have to rectify that situation. I'm going to take you away, Miss Scotton.'
Oh, bloody hell. That's not good news. A stinking rich man wants to whisk me away to an exotic location and that can only mean one thing … because stinking rich men just don't do ferries. I might be teetering on the edge of sexual oblivion, but I really do need to sort this one out.
'Not on a plane.'
'Yes, on a plane.'
'I … I can't do planes,' I stammer. 'Big scary things. Shouldn't fly. Witchcraft.'
'You and your fears.' He chuckles. 'You're going to conquer them all. I'll take you to my favourite holiday destination. Bermuda. In fact, I'll take you next week.'
Fighting back a floodtide of spasms, I raise my head.
'What?'
He removes the fingers and gets onto his knees.
'Find your passport. Favourite song.'
My head flops back.
'I don't know. I like Elbow.' While my crotch takes a break, I wrestle my lungs back under control.
'I like arse.'
'Dan, that's not funny.'
Manoeuvring himself between my legs, he turns his attention to my labia, parting the folds gently. Oh good God, I know what this means: he's about to go in again, only this time with his tongue.
'Woman,' he says quietly, running his thumb across my flesh.
'What?'
'Woman. John Lennon.' He slides the fingers back into me and I let out a breath. 'I love that song. You should listen to it.' He lowers his head to my crotch and while his fingers continue to work their magic, his tongue begins to swirl against the bundle of nerves at my clit. The warmth begins to rise again, pulsating, radiating, consuming every muscle, every nerve, every last bit of me.
'Holy fucking fuck,' I groan, digging my head back into the pillow and closing my eyes.
I hear him laugh. 'I like this small talk thing. It's not so bad after all. Film.' His tongue goes back to torturing me. My insides crackle. My muscles tense.
'Jane Eyre,' I pant. 'Jane Eyre. Orson Welles.'
'Romance?' He looks up, his hair a tangled mess.
'Yes. Oh, romance.'
Slowly, he withdraws the fingers. Slowly, he pushes them back in again.
'The rich, powerful, domineering man.' He watches me closely as I writhe under his touch. 'Unexpectedly tamed. The happy ending. I think that might be my favourite too.'
He swirls the fingers some more, slowly, patiently. He's in no hurry. Again, he pushes deeper, and I convulse. Taking hold of my thigh with his free hand, he presses a reminder into my flesh. I have to stay still.
'Favourite colour,' he demands.
And while muscles quiver, threatening to collapse in on themselves, I rummage through the chaos of my brain. I know the bloody answer. Where is it?
'Burnt Sienna.'
His free hand travels round from my thigh to my stomach. While he continues to work me up into a storm inside, he begins to trail a finger across my stomach, setting off a whole new wealth of sensations.
'White,' he murmurs. 'Mine's white.'
I lift my head again, let it drop back against the pillow, wondering why the hell he's staring at me now as if the colour white has some sort of massive significance.
'Why are you … ' This time, I'm incapable of getting to the end of my sentence. Instead, I decide to tug pointlessly at my bindings. I'm close now. So bloody close.
Removing the fingers, he places a hand to either side of my body, arching himself above me, and for a few precious seconds I get to ogle the perfect torso. Good God, why did I ever contemplate turning my back on this? In one easy movement, he's inside me.
'And now we know each other inside out,' he whispers, sliding further, 'you can agree to move in.'
And so, in the blink of an eye, the small talk thing has transformed into a big talk thing. I'd give him a damn good glare, but my eyes seem to have lost the ability to focus. A shimmering heat is rippling through my muscles and I strain at the cuffs.
'No,' I groan.
He fills me completely, staying buried deep inside for a few seconds before he draws out again, right to the tip.
'Why ever not?' he demands, pushing inwards, quickly now.
'Because … ' My lungs contract and I gasp. 'Because you've got to say the words.'
'I've already said them.' He pulls out. 'Move in with me.'
'Not those words.' I do my best to stare resolutely into his eyes. It's not easy. My vagina is twitching, quivering. 'The other words.'
Three words, to be exact, my brain complains, and you know exactly which words I'm referring to, you bastard. With a wry smile, he adjusts his angle and pounds back into me, as far as he can go, with all his might. A free kick to lust and pleasure. My brain spins off into the distance and I'm nudged away from reason, dragged into a glorious wonderland of mindless fucking. His lips cover mine, delivering a kiss that seems to go on forever. It's demanding, raw, possessive. And all the time he plunges into me, driving me to the edge of insanity. Tightening his grip on my body, he ratchets up the tempo, thrusting hard and ramming me further up the bed while the pressure builds inside, reaching almost unbearable levels. I'm about to implode when he slows once more, releasing my mouth.
'Say yes.'
Gulping for breath, I shake my head. 'You said you wouldn't … '
'Torture you?' He grins. 'I lied.' He begins to move again.
'You won't last,' I cry out. 'You're shit at tantric sex.'
'This isn't tantric sex.' He withdraws to the hilt. 'This is me controlling you.' He takes a breath, pushing into me again. 'This is me withholding your orgasm. Come on, Maya. It's inevitable. You know it.' Another lunge. 'I'll keep this going until I get my answer.'
Manoeuvring a hand under my buttocks, he urges me up against him and slips into a steady rhythm. And I see nothing but pure determination in his eyes. I don't doubt him at all. He's trapped me and tormented me with ecstasy, and right now I'll say anything to get what I need.
'Okay, okay, okay,' I practically shout. 'I'll do it. Now finish me off.'