Falling for Sir (24 page)

"I cannot resist, mistress," he
replied huskily. "Please may I use another finger?"

She closed her eyes as the tremors started.
"No."

"I cannot help myself," he whispered
and she felt his breath on her cheek as he leaned closer and his finger moved
inside her cunt. "I have to touch you, taste you, fuck you." His
tongue brushed her cheek, licking up her perspiration. "When can I fuck
you, mistress?"

"Not yet," she managed tightly.
"Take your finger out of me, slave. Wait until you have permission in
future."

He wriggled it one last time, causing an
explosive shiver of orgasm that made her bang her knees on the tub. Then he
obeyed her, sliding his finger out of her quaking pussy.

Once she had her breath back, Marianne sat up,
moving to the middle of the bath. "Now you may wash my hair. And don't get
shampoo in my eyes."

He grabbed a plastic cup from the mini-bar and
came back to kneel beside the tub again. She had let out some of the water and
now it barely covered her feet. Jack turned on the faucet, adjusted the
temperature and, using the cup, began to wet her long hair. Marianne tipped her
head back, eyes closed. The soft floral scent of the hotel shampoo filled the
air and then she felt him rubbing it in with his firm, masterful fingers. She
moaned, her entire body falling into a state of relaxation and contentment. Oh,
he was damn good with those hands.

"I might have to ask you to wash my hair
more often."

"Your every wish is my command,
mistress."

She opened one eye. "Are you a genie or a
slave?"

Jack laughed. "Both."

Suddenly his soapy hand slid down to hold her
breast. His palm and then his thumb passed over the erect nipple.

"You're so beautiful, mistress. May I suck
you here?"

"What about my hair?"

"I'll rinse it off, but first...please...I
need this," he tweaked her nipple between the pads of his fingers,
"in my mouth."

Faking a sigh of irritation, Marianne leaned
back, her palms resting on the bottom of the tub behind her. "Very
well." She arched her spine, thrusting her bosom out and up. "You
may."

She heard his grunt of excitement and then felt
his lips and tongue quickly close over the full mound she offered. He sucked in
an alternating rhythm—one moment hard and slow, then quick and soft, his tongue
flicking, like a butterfly's wing, over her throbbing nipple. It started that
steady low hum in her belly again and renewed the heat in her cunt.

"That's enough, slave," she gasped
out.

Again he was slow to obey, giving her nipple
another sneaky tug, before he backed off. She opened her eyes and saw him
staring at her naked body in that half-drained bath. His eyes were hot and
hungry.

Glancing down she saw he had one hand around his
thick, tall cock and was slowly masturbating. Her pussy clenched, yearning to
feel that length and breadth. His erection reached his navel as he knelt there
at her side. The plum-like head was ripe and juicy.

"Rinse me off, slave," she commanded,
her voice deepened with need. "And then I want you to put that in my mouth."

A vein stood out on his perspiring forehead.
"I'll come in your throat if you do that to me now."

"No you won't, boy," she snapped,
getting into her stride. "You will spend only when I say you may—and
where. Now...rinse my hair."

He turned on the faucet again and began using
the cup to rinse off the shampoo. She felt his hands trembling this time and to
torment him a little more, she lifted her hands to her breasts and played with
them, squeezing and bouncing them in her palms. The poor slave's partiality for
her tits had been quite evident from the first encounter. His breathing grew
louder and faster until it was very nearly a panting sound.

When the last of the shampoo had whirled away
down the drain, she commanded that he give her his cock to suckle. He stood and
raised one leg, resting his heel on the far side of the tub. She got on her
knees, slicked her hair back and took just the head in her mouth. Above her he
moaned. His hips swayed, rocking his groin. She nibbled and licked around the
hole through which his glistening pre-cum already hovered.

"Please, mistress," he growled.
"I need to fuck you."

Marianne gently pressed a kiss to his cockhead.
"You've been a very good slave."

"Yes," he hissed, gazing down at her,
wild-eyed.

A salty, silken thread of cum stuck to her lips
and since she didn't lick it off, it trailed from his crest to her mouth until
she spoke again. "What would you like to have, slave. Your mistress’s
pussy or her ass?"

"Both," he ground out, his prick
arching as he thrust his hips toward her again. "At the same time."
Then he added, "All of her."

Sighing and stretching again, she told him to
carry her to the bed. Jack wound her in a huge, soft, warm towel first and
transported her back into the bedroom, where he laid her down and unwrapped her
all over again.

He fucked her the way a good slave should,
filling her with devoted care for her happiness. And when he had his fingers
sunk deep into her ass, his mouth on her breast and his splendid cock balls
deep in her pussy, only then did she give him permission to come.

But it wasn't the end.

For hours they lay entwined on the bed, covered
only by the towel. They talked and caressed and kissed. Mistress and slave
gradually transformed back into Marianne and Jack. Then they made love once
more, tenderly, sweetly and without words.

* * * *

He woke to a ringing sound that, for some
reason, he mistook for a bell between boxing fights.

"Phone." she murmured sleepily into
his shoulder.

And she was right. He sat up and reached for the
room phone, wondering who on earth would be calling him at this hour and ready
to ream them out.

The hotel receptionist hastily put the call
through. It was Alana's father. "Finally got through to you! About time.
Do you know what you've done to my daughter?"

Beside him, Marianne rolled over and pulled the
sheets up over her head.

"Dr. Shepherd, it's—"

"Time you paid that girl some attention,
that's what it is. She's in the Presbyterian. I suggest you visit her if you
can tear yourself away."

Still only half-awake, he muttered down the
phone, "Alana's in hospital?"

"Of course she's in damned hospital. She
took a ton of pills last night. Apparently she tried to call you and you didn't
answer."

He groaned, glancing over at his IPhone, which
was still turned off. "Shit! I mean...I'm sorry."

"Just get your ass down here,
Marchetti." He hung up. Shepherd liked to call the shots. Alana idolized
her father, but she'd actually be far better off if she got out from under his
control. Not that she ever listen to Jack's advice on that score.

Now what?

He looked down at the gorgeous, naked woman
curled up beside him. All he wanted was to stay there with her, wrap
 
his arms around her and go back to sleep.

But he couldn't help being worried about Alana.
He'd known her too long to ignore this had happened. Evidently Dr. Shepherd
wasn't going to give him any details and deliberately left him to imagine the
worst. Why the fuck would Alana do something this stupid? He knew she was a
drama queen, but this was beyond the pale, even for her. When he last spoke to
her on the phone and made it clear that he had plans for Marianne, she'd seemed
resigned to it. She wasn't thrilled, of course, but as his brother had said to
him, she'd begun to see the light and realize that she'd hitched her wagon to
the wrong horse. They'd said their goodbyes quite civilly.

Then she made this desperate cry for help and
Jack felt like a prize ass for not seeing it coming. Swinging his feet out of
bed, he sat there, rubbing his head and softly cursing. If he didn't go back to
New York today and visit her in hospital he'd be a bad friend and uncaring. He
didn't want to be either of those things.

"What is it?" Marianne was waking up
again, yawning and sitting up.

He sighed. "Bad news. I have to go back to
New York."

"Oh." She hugged her knees, looking
crestfallen. And simply beautiful. "Already?"

Jack knew he had to be honest. No good trying to
hide anything for that only led to trouble and he wanted to do this right with
Marianne. No mistakes. No cock-ups. "It's Alana. She took an overdose last
night and she's in hospital."

Her eyes flew wide open. "Oh my god. I'm so
sorry."

"Apparently she tried to reach out to me
and my phone was off."

Marianne nodded, sucking on her lips, her face
pale. He waited, expecting a little anger at least, but she merely looked
worried. Surely most women would make some terse comment about his divided
loyalties and he'd expected to spend a while reassuring Marianne that his
friendship with Alana was not a threat to her.

It seemed as if she didn't require any
explanation. "Is she going to be ok?"

"I don't know. I hate cutting this
short...our time together," he added tentatively.

"Please don't worry about that." She
managed a shy smile. "We had a great night."

Yes, indeed. But it would have been a great
morning too, if things had gone to plan. Now that was sabotaged. He could
hardly ask her
that
question in the
midst of all this. Could he? Oh god, he was so rusty when it came to women and
relationships, but in fact he'd never been very smooth and his wife often
teased him about it.

Would it be acceptable to propose marriage to
her now, this morning? Somehow it seemed...inappropriate. What would she say?
The romantic moment was certainly in ruins. He could almost hear her remarking
scornfully, "
You've put one woman in
the hospital and you're sitting here asking me to marry you?"

He stared at her, plucking up the courage. In
the pocket of his jacket, which now lay across the chair by the window, there
was a small box with a pink diamond ring inside. He'd purchased it in Dubai.
For her. He'd meant to give it to her over breakfast this morning. But he
didn't want to do that in a rush, with this hanging over them. He'd wanted to
be feeding her with pancakes and maple syrup. It was all planned to be perfect.

Suddenly she leapt out of bed. "Come on,
let's get dressed. You need to get back to New York."

In that moment his love for her reached the
point of no return and he knew there was no hurry. He'd put that ring on her
finger at the right moment, when the only thing she had to think about was the
two of them.

Chapter
Sixteen

The
Dangerous Art of Mixing

Marianne sprinkled fish food for Pebbles and Bam
Bam. They looked pleased to see her home, she thought with a smile. Shrugging
out of her coat, she walked into the kitchenette and started her coffee maker.
Staring at her phone, she resisted the urge to call him. He had to see Alana
and get that sorted out somehow. She'd leave him to it and be patient.

Still floating after the night they'd shared, she
got ready for work. If this wasn't the last working day before the Centennial
party, she might have called in a sick day, but there was a few last-minute
things to cover with Mrs. B. She was half a day late going in, but hey, she
mused with a wicked smile, she was sleeping with the boss and he wasn't going
to fire her. He better not. Nah, he wanted to keep her happy and he was very
good at it.

When she finally got to work there was a message
from her brother Mike, cheekily asking her what time she got home last night.
Marianne chose not to respond to that inquiry.

Christie was taking the day off to do her
Christmas shopping, so she ate lunch with David in his office, laughing at his
colorful description of Thanksgiving with his painfully conservative parents.
It was good to know most people had families that didn't act like the Brady
Bunch.

That afternoon, she went with Mrs. Bracknell to
the location for the Centennial party and they made the final few arrangements.

"How was your Thanksgiving, Mrs. B?"

The secretary gave her a wink. "Not nearly
as good as yours I daresay."

But there was no call from Jack.

She thought of calling the hospital to find out
of Alana was ok, but would that be too weird?Besides she wasn't a relative and
they weren't likely to give out any information over the phone. Somehow her
family had managed to keep it out of the news. She scoured the internet but
there was nothing new.

Eventually, patience cast to the four winds, she
did try Jack's phone, but it went straight to voice mail and she hung up,
losing her nerve. He wouldn't want her pestering him at a time like this. That
evening she curled up in a chair by the TV with her double-stuff Oreos and
ironically caught an episode of Alana's reality show. In the space of that
hour-long show she learned, as the rest of the world must have, that Alana
Shepherd was desperately in love with a man who mostly avoided her. It was
painful, heart wrenching. Clearly Jack had never watched the program or he
would have had some idea that she was crying out for help in any way she could,
crying out for his attention.