“Fair enough. Goldsmith sent Isaac instead. The dinner will be in your suite at the hotel, then we’ll head home immediately after.”
“Any idea of what his agenda is? If he was meant to be here tonight and has rearranged for a dinner instead, I’d guess there’s something he’s wanting to talk about?” I have an inkling that this is more about the Prime Minister trying to get into my good graces.
“There doesn’t seem to be much behind it, other than he wants to make links. With you.”
“William does?” There’s a bleed of disappointment seeping into my veins, because I wanted it to be Isaac. He’s chocolate brown and dark navy blues. I close my eyes, remembering his smell, the feel of his leg against mine and his energy. He bubbled and he was trying continually to keep it simmering. What would make him explode?
“William does. You know he’s single?”
“You think that’s the angle?”
“He made a comment about you in the media.”
I don’t ask what. I don’t want to know. “My brother…”
“Is keen for you to meet him.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Then don’t.” He turns to me, eyes full of cold steel. “No one fucking tells you what to do, Blair.”
* * *
In my room I brush my hair and strip my face of the make-up. The shower is hot and fierce, the pressure perfect, almost brutal against my breasts and nipples. I close my eyes and let the water soak me, caress me, its touch craved for. Ben is next door, a door from his room leading into mine. It isn’t locked. I imagine him entering, coming in to check everything’s okay and finding me in the shower, the steam thick and hot, my body curvier than when he last touched me. I imagine his eyes on my breasts, looking at their roundness, my nipples hardening for him. I spread my legs, thinking of him looking there, where I’m now waxed clean and on view for him. I pinch my nipples, thinking of him watching, push my tits together, an invitation for him to touch, suck. My hand drops between my legs and I feel my own wetness there. The rhythm of my fingers is practised; I don’t have to think about the act. Within a few seconds I’m coming, thinking about Ben fucking me, holding me against the shower wall while he pounds into my cunt and makes me orgasm on his cock while he ejaculates inside me. My moan is loud and low and I wonder if he can hear it.
I hope he can. I hope he knows what I was thinking.
* * *
I don’t see Ben until late afternoon when I’m back at the hotel and getting ready for my dinner with the Prime Minister. This isn’t an official engagement, it was never on the itinerary and there have been no press releases about it. It’s a secret, or so it seems.
I wear trousers and a blue top that reminds me of Isaac, my shoulders and back exposed, the trousers tapering just above my ankles and my heels are high because I’ll be able to kick them off when I want.
“We’re due to leave at ten pm.” Ben walks into my suite without knocking.
“If I’d have been naked would you have still said the same thing?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Yes. But I couldn’t promise that my eyes wouldn’t be on your tits.”
There’s no one else here. We’re alone.
“Did they teach you how to speak to me on your training?”
He doesn’t reduce the scowl on his face. “Micky told me to treat you like you were any woman; that you don’t like pomp and ceremony.”
“Micky never talked about my tits.”
“Micky had never seen your tits.”
I tip my head to one side, smelling victory. “Micky saw them plenty of times.”
“I didn’t think you were his type.”
“I’m not.” But his type was at the places where I liked to watch. Didn’t mean I never participated.
I see darkness creep across him, maybe realisation.
“He kept me safe, Ben. Always.”
