I curse myself for not being able to flat-out ask him. I couldn’t last night, and I can’t ask him now, even thought tonight is our verylastnight together, and here we are, enjoying one final delicious meal.
Today we just spent a lazy Sunday in the grounds of the house, strolling around, enjoying the sunshine and talking – just sharing stories from our lives. Marcus told me all about how he grew up, always being the new kid at a school, never making many friends, but seeing all those different countries as his family travelled the world for his father’s business. And I told him all about my hopes and dreams for the future – how I reallydowant to make something of myself, and how he’s taught me that perhaps I should be more ambitious in the future, that maybe Idohave what it takes to be a fashion designer ...
But I had so many other things I wanted to say, too – so many questions still left unanswered.
What happens after this week?
What exactly ishappeningbetween us?
Is this all still just part of the contract?
And am I ever going to see him again once this week is over?
But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it – to ask those difficult questions. And he didn’t bring them up, either.
I know, I know. I should be stronger than this. But there’s still something so disarming about him, so confident, so devastating.
As always,he’sthe one in control, and as we finish our deserts, as if to prove this point, he suddenly stands and takes me by the hand and leads me to his bedroom, which is lit just by a single candle, casting flickering shadows over us as we slowly undress each other — silently and lovingly.
I feel my skin flashing in anticipation as we peel away the layers of each others’ clothes, our eyes locked and burning with desire, that now-familiar heat building so damn intensely between us, as the shadows flicker all around us, the whole scene breathtaking in its beauty, it’s simplicity.
It’s him who finally closed the distance between us with a single confident step, and it feels so right, this moment: our shared nakedness, our beating hearts, our shivering silence ...
I tremble as he kissed me, his lips so soft against my own, his tongue slipping into my mouth, and his hands moving through my hair, my own fingertips grazing his body, stroking his broad back, my nails raking against his skin, my body shuddering as his fingers slip between my legs, discovering the heat and wetness of my pussy.
God, I feel as if I’mmeltingbeneath his touch; my body’s yearning for him so completely.
And tonight, it seems as if all that exists in our hearts is tenderness – for tonight there will be no punishment, just romance -- romance and respect.
He lifts me so easily in his arms and lays me gently upon the bed as if I’m the most precious thing in the world, his body covering mine so completely, his lips dancing lightly against my collarbone, his hands cupping my breasts, his hot hardness brushing the inside of my thigh as I part my legs wide for him.
We’ve still not spoken a single word — our bodies speaking to each other in a much more primal language now — and it takes only a few more seconds before they’ve joined together as one, his hot thick cock pushing deep inside me, as my hands cup his muscular ass, urging him even deeper inside me.
His mouth moves to my breasts, his tongue gently circling my stiffening nipples, and I feel his pace quicken as he drives us both closer to the very edge of pleasure with each new thrust of his hips.
As my orgasm builds inside me, so too does the urge to speak, to utter the words I’ve had been holding back for so long.
I hold his head tightly between my hands, searching out his eyes with my own as I speak the words that finally break our silence: “Marcus, I don’t want this week to end ...”
A moment later, I cry out as the pleasure overwhelms my body completely, strong enough to shatter me into a thousand tiny pieces, and it seems as if my moans and cries send him tumbling over the edge too, and with a final urgent thrust of his hips, he gasps then throws back his head as he floods me with his warmth.
Afterwards, as we lay on the sheets together, our bodies still joined, he turns and pulls me close in a tender hug, brushing a lock of hair softly from my face as his eyes seek out mine.
“I don’t want it to end either,” he whispers. “You know it doesn’t have to, Jennifer?”
“How do you mean?” I ask, unable to quite believe what he’s saying – needing to hear himspell it out.
“A week with you nowherenearenough,” he replies. “I can’t live without you. I want to extend the contract.”
But at the mention of that damn contract again I quickly shake my head.
“No, Marcus,” I say, feeling my confidence building, figuring I just need tosay it, and to hell with the consequences, even if it ruins things completely between us. “I’ve learnt so much from you in this week. And I’ve learnt so much more aboutmyselfthan I ever thought I could. I’ve learnt who I can be and what I’m worth, and I think I’m finally learning that I can ask for what I want and that I deserve to get it, too. And so I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t want a contract. If I could change one thing about us? One thing about this week? I would change it so there was never a damn contract in the first place ...”
There’s a long pause, his face flickering with confusion, even sadness.
“Very well,” he says quietly.
“You don’t understand,” I say, grabbing his face, turning it to mine, holding him with my eyes as I speak.
