Money Shot (97 page)

“Come,” he said.

He led me over to where the elevators left for the top level of the tower, another five hundred feet above us. After a couple of minutes, the lift doors opened in front of us and he ushered me into the small glass car. A woman made a move to join us but Thomas barred her way with his arm.

“Please take the next elevator,” he said.

She frowned at him but stepped back. The doors slid shut and, with a sound of grinding gears, we started to climb slowly into the night sky.

“Now we scale the heights,” said Thomas, tugging at the belt of my coat. “I’ve got precisely one minute and forty seconds until we reach the top. One minute and forty seconds to make you come.”

Before he’d finished talking, I felt his hand slide up between my thighs and press itself against my pussy. Deft fingers quickly found their way inside—but it wasn’t hard. I was already wet and swollen with desperate desire. I slumped back against the glass wall of the elevator, hardly aware of the view which grew ever-more spectacular as we climbed. Thomas kissed my neck and a shiver ran through me, robbing me of anything but the awareness of his presence, his breath on my throat, his fingers pushing up inside me, his other hand pulling my lapels wide to expose my breasts.

“I’m not going to fuck you. There isn’t time.” His voice carried an urgency I hadn’t heard before.

He dropped to his knees and pushed my legs wide apart. I could hardly stand but he placed my hands on his shoulders and then leant in. His breath tickled me for a fraction of a second and then his tongue was on me in a long, sweeping lick that opened me up and rasped across the surface of my clit. I gasped. My head swam as a current of pure sexual energy swept through every synapse of my body. My hips thrust forward against his face, my legs opening wider, but the movement was beyond my control—sexual impulse had taken over my body. As the tip of his tongue circled in closer, it felt as if my clit would burst and for a moment there was as much pain as pleasure.

I grabbed a handful of his hair so I could grind myself against his mouth. Two more fingers pushed their way up inside me, rough and possessing, staking their claim. His teeth caught hold of my clit and he sucked it hard into his mouth, stretching and tugging until the long-awaited orgasm exploded through me, making me clench around his hand and shudder as I collapsed against him.

He pulled his mouth away and his fingers slid out of me to cup my pussy firmly, gently bringing me back down to sentience as he stood up. As I still throbbed in the ebbing tide of my climax, he straightened my coat and did up the belt, kissing me softly to remind me of his presence and where we were. His lips tasted of me, salty and musky, and my tongue darted out to lick his chin.

“Achieved, with five seconds to spare,” he said, a roguish grin lighting up his face, as the lift slowed down.

I could only pant, finally aware of the extraordinary tapestry of lights stretching away to the horizon, and the dark ribbon of the river looking like nothing so much as the blue line on a tourist map. The elevator doors opened and Thomas guided me as I staggered out onto the top viewing platform. A middle-aged couple stepped into the car we’d just vacated. They would be able to smell the earthy scent of me for the entire journey down.

In a dark corner, away from where the other visitors were searching out the landmarks of Paris, Thomas took me in his arms and kissed me properly, for a long, long time. I relaxed in the warmth of his embrace, happy and sated.

“Was it worth the wait, Roisin? Was the pleasure worth the punishment?”

And only then did I understand what he’d done. He’d spent forty-eight hours priming my body for that brief, explosive moment. And that’s how I learned what a relationship between a Dom and his sub could be. On our first short trip to Paris, he taught me that and so much more. What I’d thought was a foreign country became my home.

ABOUT TASMIN FLOWERS

Tamsin Flowers has been writing erotica for three years. She started out with short stories and has featured in more than twenty anthologies to date from Cleis Press, Go Deeper Press, House of Erotica, Xcite Books and Velvet Books. Her works have featured in collections curated by some of today’s most celebrated editors—including Violet Blue (Best Women’s Erotica 2014 and 2015), Rachel Kramer Bussel (The Big Book of Submission: 69 Kinky Tales), Alison Tyler (Twisted: Bondage with an Edge, Bound for Trouble: BDSM for Women) and Kristina Wright (Best Erotic Romance 2014 and Best Erotic Romance of the Year, Passionate Kisses: Erotic Romance Fantasies for Couples).

She has also self-published a sizzling collection of zombie erotica, Zombie Erotoclypse, and the ongoing BDSM series,Alchemy xii. She has had novels and novellas released by Xcite Books (The Christmas Tattoo, Her Boss and His Client), Secret Cravings (The Crimson Bond, The Scarlet Bond) and Totally Bound (Doing It for the Coach).

You can find more of her work at 
Tamsin’s Superotica
.

Twitter: 
@TamsinFlowers

Facebook: 
Tamsin Flowers

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“I’m officially broke,” Ivy sighed and picked up her mug of steaming tea without much enthusiasm. Normally, she truly cherished the few stolen moments she and Libby, her best friend, spent in the Student Center’s cafeteria in between classes or on the way to volleyball practice, but today she was unusually gloomy.

The two girls would meet every day, order cups of tea and catch up, all the while cracking jokes or discussing their latest crushes. Since they lived in different dorms and their schedules were full, staying in touch was harder than they had imagined when they had first arrived at college from the same small town, huddled among the peaks of the North Country.

Even ten minutes with Libby would somehow relieve Ivy from all the stress about grades, making it to the NCAA, and all the club meetings and random jobs she picked up on campus. A simple chat would make her feel as if she had someone on her side in this snobbish environment where everyone was a senator’s daughter or a business tycoon’s son.

“Tea’s on me then,” Libby winked.

“You are sweet,” Ivy managed to smile weakly, “but I’m serious. I had to meet with my financial advisor today. I already knew what he was going to say, but still…”

“Aren’t your parents going to help out?”

“You know they can’t. Since dad got sacked, they are barely making ends meet. Plus, when I decided to come here, I promised them I’d manage on my own,” Ivy said and took a sip of the fragrant tea, which filled her with warmth and eased the built-up tension inside her a bit.

“But you work so
hard
. There’s got to be a way to save up. There are two more months till the end of the semester.” Libby stretched over the table and placed a hand on her friend’s arm to comfort her. “Maybe if you squeeze in another job?” she offered tentatively.

“It looks like I don’t have a choice. I’m already working ten hours at the library, but the pay is so low, I’ll never make it to seven thousand dollars by the end of the semester.” Ivy dropped her head into her crossed arms on the table and her long brown hair draped around her like a veil. Her body heaved with another loud sigh. “What am I going to do, Libby? They’ll make me take a semester off. Or worse—kick me out.”

“Hey, you can always auction off your virginity or something,” Libby offered.

“Right,” Ivy laughed. “Any other suggestions, genius?”

“What you need is a better paying job. You might be able to find something in Boston. There should be like a million temp job ads online and it’s only a ten-minute bus ride away.” Libby downed her tea and threw the empty sugar packets, the soggy teabag and the wooden stirrer in the empty cup. “Let’s skip class and I’ll help you look. We can go to the library. What’s your next class?”

“Environmental chemistry,” Ivy winced at the thought of how boring the class was. She fought really hard not to fall asleep every time she heard the monotonous drone of the professor or looked at the completely unoriginal PowerPoint slides he changed with a click every twenty minutes. “I’m in. I’ll email him later to say I wasn’t feeling well or something. The man is obsessed with attendance.”

“Perfect, let’s go.”

The library was almost completely deserted with the exception of a seminar that was held in one of the private glass-walled study rooms and a couple of hippies dozing off on a huge, comfortable sofa in the central study area. Ivy had always admired the sheer enormousness of the library and felt proud of herself for being accepted at such a prestigious school.

Now, at the sight of the neat, catalogued rows of books, the potted tress climbing up to the high glass ceiling, and the intimate study nooks tucked amid the bookshelves, her heart sank. She couldn’t afford to go home. She had worked so hard to get in and be a part of this magical place, which looked like it came straight out of the glossy pages of a college catalogue. She felt a new surge of motivation. She’d find some way out.

The girls entered the empty computer lab where a dozen computer screensavers revealed beautiful scenes from the college’s life: students sprawled on the green lawns with their books propped open, a candle service in the chapel, a snow-covered weathervane. Libby sat at the nearest computer and pulled out the chair to the adjacent one for Ivy to join her. The girls quickly entered their log-in information and started searching for the perfect job that would come as the answer to all of Ivy’s troubles.

“It’s all cleaning and waitressing,” Ivy said, discouraged after half an hour of fruitless browsing. “And the pay is even worse than the library.”

“Same here,” Libby tried to sound cheerful. It had all been her idea, so she hated to see it was a useless one. “Let’s just keep looking. I’m sure we’ll find some—”

“What?” Ivy glanced over to Libby’s screen as her friend had gone mute and was staring hypnotized at a lengthy job description. It was too far for Ivy to read clearly.

“Wow, Ivy,” Libby finally said excitedly, “listen to this. It’s a personal assistant job. Pays twenty dollars an hour—”

“Are you serious?” Ivy moved her chair over next to Libby’s. “But I’d be terrible at this. I can barely organize my own stuff.”

“Stop whining, just listen,” Libby scolded her. “Some old businessman guy is looking for someone to post ads on dating sites for him. He’s too busy to do it himself and it says he doesn’t have the time to find a partner or date, so he wants this personal assistant to write messages to some women that fit his requirements and maybe chat with them a bit and set up dates.”

“Oh my God,” Ivy gasped, “someone wants to
pay
for that?”

“Someone wants to pay twenty dollars an hour for that and you don’t even need to leave your dorm room! Plus, how is he going to know how many hours you’ve actually worked. He’s too busy to spy on you. You can totally cheat.”

“OK, where do I apply?” Ivy said impatiently, almost shoving Libby out of the way as she settled in front of the computer.

Ivy couldn’t wait to get back to her room and check her email. The girls on the volleyball team always took so long to shower after practice, and being a freshman, Ivy was naturally among the last to get in. She couldn’t simply go to her own dorm, which was on the opposite side of campus since it was late and she had to pass through the dining hall for dinner. Appearing there stinking of sweat and with greasy hair sleeked back in a ponytail was out of the question. All athletes proudly paraded their dripping wet just-showered hair in the dining hall. Wet hair at dinner meant you were part of a team, part of the achievers, part of the cool.

With all her desire to truly fit in, Ivy was waiting impatiently in front of the showers where screams and hysterical laughs were mixing in with the hot steam. She was picturing what the job might entail and imagined looking through profiles of middle-aged women, checking out their photos, weight and height and running compatibility tests. She was devising the initial messages she would send to these women to really hook them. Who knew? Perhaps if she really did a good job, she might even get a bonus.

When she finally slammed her dorm room’s door shut, she was completely exhausted from the long day. She almost collapsed on her bed, but changed her mind and dragged herself to the chair in front of the desk instead. Her heart suddenly jumped. One new message in her private email inbox, the one she almost never gave out to anyone, so it sat deserted at zero messages all the time. With a trembling hand she opened it and saw a short message and a few attachments.

Dear Miss Lawrence,

I have considered your application and given your impressive credentials, I am glad to inform you that I would like to hire you for a trial period of two weeks, if you are still interested in the position. You will find all necessary information about the job responsibilities in the attached documents. I would greatly appreciate your complete discretion.

Regards,

Connor Freeman

“Yes!” Ivy screamed, without caring what people in the hallway might think. She downloaded the attachments and read through the instructions, the suggested websites, the message templates, Connor’s potential partner preferences and his own introduction. She also found a contract with her name on it, waiting for her signature. She was a bit surprised to read that at his age of forty-two, he was looking for a “brunette in her early twenties, with a slim figure…” Her attention was caught by the last two unopened attachments, which appeared to be photos. His photos.

Ivy drew in a sharp breath. The man in the pictures looked far younger than forty-two. In the first one he was standing on board of a large, shiny yacht, dressed in a white linen suit, the coat revealing a bare muscular chest, tanned and smooth with a tattoo crawling down from his left shoulder. The second one was a close-up of him in a dark evening suit, cradling a wine glass at mouth-level as if he was about to sip, a seductive one-sided smile peering behind the glass. There was a playful flame in his slightly squinted eyes and the light stubble and clear-cut broad jaw made him look even sexier. Connor was not only
expensive
, he was also scorching hot to look at and Ivy felt like she was leafing through a GQ magazine.

When she came to from the sweet daze, the thought had already formulated in her head. Twenty dollars an hour was good, but the money this man had could buy anything in this world.
Anything
. What would seven thousand dollars be to him, when judging from the pictures, his suit was more expensive than this. And he was looking for a girlfriend. A woman who he was going to shower with his riches. Ivy could easily pass for a twenty-year-old with a bit of make-up. She would wait a couple of days doing fictitious work and then she would set up his first date… with
herself
.