His hips roll against me, retreating slightly then filling me again. Withdrawing slowly, then his grip tightens in my hair. He holds me there for a moment, trembling around the tip of him even as my neck begins to ache. Once more, he drives inside and deep, punishing thrusts match the abuse at the base of my skull.
I moan loudly, delirious, the sensations heightening with each collision of skin.
‘Beg, kitten. Beg me for more,’ he grates out as he pounds into me.
The line between pleasure and pain blurs immediately. There are no shades or tones, no nuances, hints or degrees. My perception is sharpened by the grip of his hand, and I’m ready to come on this knife edge of need.
I beg, plead and implore with all that I have. This man possess my body and invades my soul. I come explosively, the little death releasing life and euphoria into me. And all the while Kai holds my hair, whispers in my ear that I should thank him, that nice girls are grateful. That good girls do as they are told, and finally, as his own climax approaches, that I fuck beautifully.
Unravelling my hair, Kai gathers me to his chest before turning me, pulling me against his chest. My breathing begins to regulate slowly, and as I raise my eyes, he smiles: Arrogance is at home there. I’m not sure whether I want to slap or kiss it from his face.
‘You’re a woman of many virtues, but patience isn’t one of them,’ he says smugly, then probably reading my expression—which no doubt suggests that a poke in the ribs is immanent—he reaches for my hands. Raising them to his mouth, he kisses each in turn, before tipping his head and stepping directly under the stream of water.
‘I didn’t hear you complain,’ I murmur as he releases my hands.
Eyes closed, the water cascades across his face, his hands running across his body and between his legs.
What was I going to do again? Say?
Stepping from the shower he shakes his head, dislodging beads of water around the room like a large, wet dog.
‘You probably didn’t hear me over the noises you were making.’ Unfolding a towel, he wraps his waist in the white cotton down, walking from the room with a backwards smirk.
Funny, I remember now. Pity his ribs aren’t within reach.
As I enter the room, I’m still towelling my hair when the view from the window stops me in my tracks. The sun blazes bronze as it descends behind the dunes. I’d thought the desert beautiful earlier, but the sunset washes it breathtaking in this rose-gold hue.
‘It’s incredible.’
‘Wait until later. The sky will be filled with so many stars you wouldn’t believe there’d be room. We’ll eat out there, I think.’ Wrapping his arms around my waist, he stoops to rest his chin on my shoulder. ‘On the terrace, under the stars.’
‘Like a picnic?’ I ask, turning to face him.
‘With a butler service. Best hurry up and put some clothes on, dinner won’t be long.’
‘A butler wearing pyjamas?’ I’ll be seriously underdressed.
‘The butler won’t be wearing pyjamas. And I suppose youcouldof if I’d brought you some.’ His reply is insouciant, but he pauses then, smile faltering, hesitant for a moment. ‘I brought clothes for this evening. Clothes I’d like you to wear.’ His eyes glide like silk to the bed.
The shadows in the room have lengthened along with the dusk as I follow his gaze to the designer wardrobe laid out on the bed. My hand traces the distinctive, red signature on a beige rectangular box.
‘Straight to the shoes,habibti?’
‘I like shoes.’
I glance at him over my shoulder before turning my attention back. Louboutin’s, fawn-coloured platform pumps with a serious spiked heel. It’s just as well we’re eating here as I doubt I’d be able to get far in these with any semblance of grace. But more striking than the heel, more striking than the siren-red soles, are the dozens of sharp, diamond-like barbs that decorate each shoe.
‘But do you like those shoes?’ Kai questions from the shadows.
‘They’re pretty fierce.’
I turn one over in my hand; I’ve never seen shoes so... violently sexy. I can’t resist running my fingers across the points.
Next to the shoe box lies a silk jersey dress. Vanilla in colour, it’s gathered and clasped at the shoulders and cinched at the waist by a plaited belt. I lift an accompanying gift bag, labelledAgent Provocateur, as Kai tells me he’ll leave me to dress. Pausing in the shadow of the doorway, he adds a quiet, ‘Thank you.’
Pinning up my damp hair, I slip into my newly acquired lingerie. The sheer pale cream sliding against my skin, its tone almost matching my own. Black embroidery stands stark like beautiful graffiti drawn against my body. Twisting my head over my shoulder, I view how low the knickers sit across my bum and hips, ending in crisscrossing ribbons. The bra almost isn’t worth wearing, cut as low as it is, my nipples threatening to peep from the cups. But the underwear is so delicate, despite the bondage-like ribbon, and at complete odds with the fierce shoes. I slip the dress over my head, catching a glimpse of my reflection, and decide I definitely do like designer gifts. Even ones that make me look like a hot slave girl.
On the bed, under the dress, lies a pair of, what seem like fingerless gloves. No, long cuffs, or maybe more like gauntlets, I suppose? Though after this afternoon, that seems like too masculine a title. Gauntlets are for falcons or medieval knights, and these gauntlets are decidedly feminine. As I pull them on, cream leather cut to resemble fine lace covers me from wrist to forearm. They’re almost evocative of Edwardian lady’s gloves, not that they’re at all genteel. There’s something distinctly sexual about these almost-gloves. Maybe it’s the leather, fitting snugly against my skin.Or possibly the smell.
