Chapter Fifteen
In which Alec has dessert and Martin learns why you knock.
Fee…
I insisted on having dessert before leaving Davies’ restaurant.The food was that good.
Whilst we waited, I slipped off one of my flats and placed the sole of my bare foot firmly against the hot, hard bar of his erection.
God love the man, but he did little more than raise the corner of his lip, showing off a bit of his canines, “The tablecloth probably isn’t long enough to hide anything.”
“Don’t care. Besides which, you said yourself this is a very discreet corner.” I kneaded at him with my toes, and tried not to let on that his size was nearly past thrilling into intimidating.
“True. However, since our waiter hasn’t consented and I know that is important to you, maybe we shouldn’t shock a member of the proletariat?”
“Good point.” I gave him a last brush with my heel and then slipped my shoe back on before our sweets arrived. A plate of baked quince halves in honey, some stuffed with whipped cream, some with candied walnuts.
Davies ignored the knives and forks and lifted one of the cream-filled gems to his mouth, looking me in the eye the full time. Those poison green eyes were so hungry. Then he closed them and started to lick.
I swear I felt every taste he took, that long, clever tongue of his scooping up that sweetened cream with greedy swipes until it was empty. My cunt was swollen, soft, starting to beat in time to my heart, which was speeding up.
I may have dropped my spoon when he opened his eyes again, smiled at me, and ate the now empty fruit in three sharp bites.
“You should get the check.”
“Are you sure?” He gestured to my plate, “You’ve barely touched your pudding.”
I ran my finger through the cream, getting a big dollop, and sucked it clean. “Mmmmm… I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“I hope that’s not true. Check!”
Davies’ mansion/temple was close to the restaurant, so we decided for the sake of public decency - and the amount of distracting noises his driver would be subjected to -to keep our hands to ourselves. Also, no matter how badly I was gagging for the man I was not going to have it off in the backseat of fucking Bentley Bentayga, even if it was a hybrid.
Out of the vehicle at top speed, we walked, no we all but ran into the building. “Your room, my room, the study, the fucking hallway, where do you want to go?” Davies kept his voice casual, but when he opened the door for me his knuckles were as white as snow.
“Your room,” I turned in the doorway and running a hand through his hair, and leaned close, trying not to rub myself on him, “But I imagine your bed is the altar piece to this monstrosity of a house, so I would assume that for you fucking a socialist on it would probably deconsecrate it, yeah?”
“Tomorrow I’ll take you to Highgate cemetery and fuck you on Marx’s grave, so we’ll be even,” he growled,then he bent his knees, threw me over his shoulder so my hips took the brunt of it rather than my full stomach and ran up the sweeping stairs two at a time, my laugh trailing behind us.
The master suite of the Davies’ mansion had double doors with brass handles and elaborate carvings of fruit and stags, probably salvaged from a Georgian country house. They opened with an ominous creak, as the doors to the lair of a supervillain Godking should. The darkness was absolute, and for a moment it was as if we had been swallowed whole.
Then, a few more steps and I was flying backwards, landing in a puff of velvet-covered eiderdown and sumptuous piles of pillows. Davies was over me, caging me with his long, strong body, though I could see little more than the shape of him.Dipping his head, his hair brushing my forehead, we found each other's mouths by instinct, kissing and pulling away, he tenderly bit my lower lip and I arched up into him, running my lips up his throat, rubbing my face against the stubble of his like I was a cat and he was my favorite toy.
Then he, with the sound of someone trying to get themselves under control, was up and off me.
I expected Davies to turn on a light but rather, I felt his long finger circle my right ankle, lifting my foot and taking off my shoe.
“Felicity?” he asked, planting a soft kiss on the arch of my foot. His voice was like silk and sandpaper over my skin, soothing and agitating at once.
For a moment I couldn’t think of what he was saying then the penny dropped. My name. “Nah.Too English for me.”
He performed the same service to my left foot. “Felicia?”
Now I snorted, “As if.”
Those same fingers, running up my legs, their heat searing through the denim, brushing over the apex of my sex. I inhaledwith a hiss, “Lovely.” He undid the button and then slowly unzipped, and I swear I felt every tooth of that zipped rattle through my blood which was shouting for him to hurry it up.
He stopped and started to say, “Fed - fuck it, I can’t,” and pulled my jeans and panties off in one go. For a moment I was cold and wet and feeling a bit alone, as he waited. I could hear his breathing coming like a racehorse. “I haven’t been with anyone in… I don’t remember how long, and I had a physical recently so I’m healthy, but if you want a condom I have a selection.” He sounded almost diffident. Almost embarrassed.
