‘I’ve told you, I don’t havetime. I’ve got to get to work.’
‘And I’ve told you, there’s always time for sex, honey bee. I only have to look at you and I’m fucking hard. I can’t ever get my fill of you; not this morning in bed, or else why would we have ended up fucking in the shower?’ I lower my arms and allow my gaze to roam over her face. Her eyes darken as a flush creeps up her neck.
‘And that’s why my hair looks like this,’ she says, gesturing to her wild, honey coloured waves. ‘One of these days you’ll learn what the conditioner is actually for.’
My deep laughter echoes through the room. ‘You mean it’s not posh smellin’ lube?’
Bea shakes her head disparagingly. ‘You are so wrong, my unicorn.’
‘I’ll remind you of that tonight when you’re crying my name, begging to come. Ah, the plans I have for you when you get home. Fancy a night in restraints?’
She blinks back at me slowly,one . . . two . . . threeand I wonder where her mind has slipped to. Has it gone to the last time we’d used restraints? I’d fastened her ankles into a spreader bar and her hands to the headboard and eaten her out until she’d run out of breath to protest. Or maybe she’s thinking about the last time we were at the Den. Of how her bare pussy had ridden my thigh while another man—a stranger—had watched her fall apart.Fall apart for me.Of how we’d taken him back to our room later and used him for our pleasure.
The Lion’s Den is a place we’re both members of—me a long-time member, her more recently. It’s a place where all kinds of kinks are catered for by way of exorbitant membership fees. And worth every penny as far as I’m concerned, though I still have moments of disbelief when I think about this beautiful woman and how she not only fits into my life and lifestyle tastes, but compliments them.
She calls me her sexual unicorn, as in I’m too good to be true. But really, she’s the magical one.
Or maybe the reference is really about my massive, sparkly dick. Massive by way of girth and length, sparkly by way of its piercing.Her words, not mine.Truthfully, I’m not sure which it is, but what is clear is Bea finds my bisexuality a huge turn on.
She doesn’t love me in spite of who I am but rather because of it.
From the other side of the island bench, Bea hasn’t moved. Lips gently parted, her chest rises and falls with even breaths as she suddenly mouths the word, ‘Restraints.’
It’s not quite a whisper as she looks down unseeingly at a flyer she’s pulled from the drawer. But it is my answer. And the reason my cock is rock fucking hard. She’s thinking about tonight, wondering what I have planned. Thinking about the heights I’ll take her to all its dirty, wicked technicolour.
‘What’s your pleasure, darlin’? The spreader bar? The cuffs?’ Her eyes rise, the flush on her cheeks more vivid now. ‘Maybe it’s not such a good idea to tie you down, ‘cause I can’t get enough of you.’ Not this morning and I definitely not tonight. ‘Not when you’re leaving me to my own devices all day. Christ only knows what plans I’ll have cooked up by the time you get home.’
She ducks her head, but it doesn’t matter. I can tell from across the room she’s excited.She’s probably wet.
‘Such threats and promises,’ she says, her tone taking on a sultry, husky quality.
Oh, she’s definitely wet.
‘I can barely walk as it is,’ she says, raising her head. A low chuckle rumbles from my chest in response to her twinkling gaze and expression. ‘I’m serious,’ she adds fighting her own smile. ‘I give it until lunchtime before someone asks where I went horse-riding this weekend. And what should I say then? That my reduced mobility is a result of loving someone insatiable? Someone hung like a horse?’
‘Like either of those is a bad thing. You’ll just make your colleagues jealous.’
‘Swallow their tongues, more like.’
‘And I’m more than willing to kiss your pussy better,’ I purr. ‘Send you to work with a smile on your face?’
‘You are just the worst,’ she play-huffs. ‘The biggest tease of the century.’
‘You think I don’t mean it?’ I ask, cocking one taunting brow. ‘Why don’t you come over here and let my cock show you otherwise. Pushing my chair farther back, I palm my dick, partly for my benefit, partly for hers.She likes to watch, and like a good boyfriend, I’ll let her. Anytime.
At this, she appears to come back to her original purpose. Teasing over, she plants a solid hand on her hip. ‘Or you could just help me find my card so I can get to work on time?’ She gives me her serious face and I know I should maybe toe the line.Rather than pull on it.Because hers isn’t a job. It’s more like a calling.
‘It should be against the law to work on Sunday,’ I grumble, adjusting my semi as it deflates along with my hopes. ‘Sunday mornings should be reserved for blow jobs and lazy morning fucking.’ Even as I complain, I do as she suggests. Yep, that’s me. The good boyfriend. Or at least, someone trying to be. And soon to be good husband, if I have anything to do with it. Let’s just say there are plans in the works. A timeline I’m adhering to. Relationships blocks I’m building into goals.
‘I agree,’ she responds reasonably. ‘There also should be no such things as small children requiring surgery after nasty RTAs, or thumbs severed from hands because someone’s dad accidentally sawed it off during a spot of Sunday DIY.’
Bea’s a plastic surgeon, though not the kind that enhances tits, or peels back the skin of jowly faces for a tighter fit. Nope, she’s the kind that fixes burned skin, malformations, and reattaches the odd fingers, too.
‘I’m pleased I did’nae have sausage for breakfast. You paint an awfully persuasive picture, hen.’
‘I need to find my card and get to work,’ she adds plaintively, her hand slipping from her hip as she half shrugs.
In two steps, I’ve enfolded her in my arms. I can’t resist this woman, in whatever form.
