upon my breasts. Instead, I’m forced to endure.
There’s only one steep flight of steps up out of the cellar. It’s an escape route, but it won’t solve the issue with the money. I could claim he took it and is trying to frame me. The bosses are probably more amenable to the more typical forms of sexual persuasion. Things I can control.
Saul’s lips slide along the length of my collarbone, so softly at first that I barely notice them – until he finds the pulse point and sucks. The whiff of his aftershave coupled with the musky scent ensnares my senses. I can’t breathe. I can’t act. Instead of picturing my flight up the age-worn stairs, I’m envisage myself on my knees, still tied, lavishing attention on his cock, as he slides it first in and out of my mouth, and then between my cupped breasts.
‘Like it when it gets a bit rough, do you? Don’t worry; it’ll get a lot rougher yet.’ I feel the pinch of his teeth. It hurts … It hurts so good that I can’t stop the croon escaping. My back arches, pushing my breasts up and out, my lips open, gulping air, and seeking kisses.
‘Stop.’ The cry that escapes my lips makes no impact on his motion.
‘I’ll decide when we stop.’ He delicately traces with his tongue the bruise he’s left upon my neck, and leaves a wet trail of saliva up to my ear. ‘I’m not ready to stop yet. I’ve barely begun. I’m going to fuck you, Freya. I’m going to get you all worked up and stretch your pleasure out so that you’re not sure you’ll ever find release.’
‘You can’t do this. I won’t keep still for it.’
He moves fast, circles to face me again and presses our brows together. ‘I can and I am. And I sincerely hope you won’t lie still. I hope you’re going to scratch and scream and fight. I do like a good fight. And you know the more you fight, the harder I’m going to fuck you, and the more I fuck you, the harder you’re going to fight. Understand?’
Oh, I understand. But mind and body aren’t entirely in agreement over my reaction. I try for aloofness, while my body melts at the thought of his touch, and of rough sex on the bare floor. I imagine the feel of his cock thrusting inside of me, the heat of our bodies sliding together in perfect, violent harmony. I see myself out of control.
Damn, his knots are good.
My attempt to work a hand free prompts a snigger from Saul. He holds me still.
‘Shall we start? Shall we see what goodies are on offer?’ He meets my gaze, green eyes twinkling. Then he pulls a knife from a sheath on his belt.
My heart-rate soars, my body goes into nuclear meltdown as he slices open the front of my dress. The stretchy fabric gapes, revealing the milky tones of my skin, and a vibrant scarlet-and-cream bra-and-panties set. Incredible, how the appearance of one item can change the atmosphere so quickly. I’ve been too blasé up until now. I’ve relied on my instinct that Saul is a decent guy, but knife play is moving into territory that makes me squeak with fear.
‘It’s a shame, but it has to go.’ The blade slices through the front of my bra. Then he slides the point downwards across the plane of my stomach. I don’t make a sound. I hardly dare breathe as the cold steal kisses my skin.
‘Saul …’ The glint in his eyes is impossible to decipher. Is it arousal, or just sadistic pleasure?
‘There’s no need to get jumpy now.’
No need? I tug at the bonds again, but there’s no give. There’s no running away from this.
The pounding thump of blood in my ears almost drowns out his whisper: ‘Careful, now. We don’t want you to get hurt.’ Deliberately, he nicks me with the tip of the blade, so that a single ruby bead is wept onto the curve of my belly. I stare at it in speechless alarm, while he neatly slices the sides of my knickers so that I’m rudely exposed.
Saul shoves my knees apart, and inserts one of his between them to prevent me closing them again. It makes the ropes around my ankles pinch, but my attention is drawn away from the discomfort as he curls his hand over my bush. One large finger prods its way between the lips of my sex and jabs at my clit.
Dear God!
His finger slides smoothly, as if it’s coated with oil, but it’s not oil that lubricates his touch but pooled moisture drawn from my body. I’m on edge. The pungent scent of my arousal rises in the air between us. Hell, I think I’m going to come just from his touch, I’m wound so tight. My clit aches, it stands proud and my pitiful attempts to recoil from the infuriatingly sweet stimulus don’t change things one bit.
‘No.’
‘No?’ His fingers don’t cease their motion. ‘But your body is saying otherwise. I think you want me to continue. In fact, I think you want me to draw this out, hold you right on the edge until you’re almost crazy with it. But should I let you come?’ His lips quirk into a malevolent smile. ‘I think you’ll have to earn that release, don’t you?’
I ought to demand that we play safe, but we’re beyond the realm of agreed safe words and fuck-buddy antics. Instead, I’m ensnared in a world made entirely to his liking.
‘Cry out if you like,’ he says, knowing that I’ll hate to make a sound. I bite my lips, but the sparks that kindle in my clit and thread out across my body make me want to scream and thrash about in pleasure. His fingers torment me with the promise of climax, but never quite deliver. I’m right on the edge of a delicate sexual precipice when he pinches my clit, bringing numbness and frustration in place of release.
‘Bastard!’
‘Yes, yes, that’s right.’ He releases his fly and palms the rosy head of his cock. ‘Repentance before absolution.’ He draws back a little way, and slumps onto an ancient sofa. His legs stretch out before him, the tips of his mighty boots almost touching the toes of my shiny red stilettos, and his hand and wrist work.
He’ll come, and I won’t. I’ll be forced to rouse him from a state of slumber after the fact.
‘Don’t do this,’ I plead.
Does his gaze soften a fraction? Perhaps. Perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, or desperate wishful thinking, for when I look again there’s only glassy hardness and an irritable, unfathomable, sense of restraint.
‘My hands are tied. I can’t do you without permission and I don’t have that permission.’
‘What? Permission – what permission? What are you talking about?’
‘I’m not the boss, Freya, just the understudy.’
Of course, I should have realised. This is Jason’s house. He has to be aware of our presence. He’s probably around somewhere. That somewhere is far closer than I thought. I catch the faint trace of his aftershave and realise that he’s here with us in the room, watching. Saul’s gaze slips over my shoulder to the inky shadows beyond. With a series of ungainly jerks I somehow manage to shuffle the chair around.
Jason is slouched in a chair beside a tripod-mounted video camera. His long legs are hooked over the arm of the chair.
‘I can’t let Saul fuck you. That wouldn’t suit his punishment at all.’ Jason’s voice is silky but there’s a purr of strength behind his soothing tone, which for some reason further sets me off balance.
‘Why is he being punished?’
Jason’s smile lights his whole face. ‘You might not be able to keep your fingers out of the cookie jar, Ms Thief, but Saul here has a rather more severe habit. He thinks it’s OK to fuck on company time. He seems to see my desk as the perfect trysting spot. How many secretaries have you shagged there this month?’
‘One or two.’ Saul mutters the reply. From the slick sounds I can hear, he’s still working his cock.
‘More than one or two.’ Jason meaningfully rests a hand upon the camera. ‘I think I have at least six on tape.’
‘If you do, it’s