Stories for When the Sun Goes Down (Sexy Anthology) (4 page)

I don’t look down though I know I’m on
show, exposed, instead I hold a serene, confident expression as his unblinking
gaze drills into me.

“You’re hot,” he whispers. “Are you wet,
too?”

“Just for you.” I squirm against his
inquisitive finger.

“Dirty little whore,” he mouths, a twitch
catching his upper lip and a wicked glint sharding through his eyes. He pulls
the elastic of my knickers aside and a single thick finger strokes up the soft
folds of my now hyper-sensitive flesh and flicks over my buzzing clitoris. Just
once, just enough to tease and make me want more.

I pull in a sharp breath and try not to
let out a whimper as the barman walks over and removes our empty glasses.

“Would you like more champagne, sir?” he
asks.

The exploring finger begins to slowly push
into my emptiness, filling me just a little. I can barely register what the
question has been.

“We’re fine thanks,” Hunk answers for me
as he slides all the way in. I feel my spine soften and curl forward. I need
more of what he’s doing but I can’t have it now, not here. I look up at the
barman and see a fleeting, unreadable expression cross his face before he turns
his back on us.

Hunk pulls slowly out, realigns my knickers
and straightens my dress to my knees.

“Well,” I ask, feeling a flush of colour
rise on my cheekbones as I re-cross my legs, pretending the whole thing never
happened.

My brooding client holds his hand up and
the light catches my glistening juices spread on his finger. “Let’s see.” He
opens his mouth and pokes his long, moist finger in up to the knuckle. Then,
closing his eyes, he withdraws it very, very slowly letting out a small murmur
of approval as he does so. “I think…” he says, hardly opening his hooded eyes. “You’ll
do very nicely, but I’ll warn you, I don’t spend a thousand pounds lightly, I’ll
be getting my moneys worth. You think you can handle that?”

I practically melt into a boneless heap at
the thought of him making sure he gets his money’s worth out of me. “I can
handle plenty,” I say with a jut of my jaw that belies my jubilant butterflies.

“Good,” he says, standing. “Let’s go.”

He waits as I pick up my purse and then
threads his fingers with mine. He leads me past the three men and out into the
bright lobby.

“You like my dress then?” I ask conversationally
as we head across the lobby.

“Not nearly slutty enough,” is his gruff
response.

We step into the waiting elevator. The
second the door rolls shut he’s on me. Pushing me against the smoky mirrored
wall with his big, powerful body and slamming his erection into my stomach. His
mouth presses down on mine and his insistent tongue probes and explores. “No,”
I manage to breathe as I twist and remove his tongue. “No kissing on the mouth.”

“What?”

“No kissing on the mouth, that’s the rule,
stick to it or the deal is off.”

He steps back and his weight is gone, I
miss it already. A flash of disapproval, or maybe hurt, crosses his face and he
runs a hand over his short, sharp hair. I have no time to explain it’s standard
whore practice because the door pings open and an elderly, well-dressed couple
step in.

“Good evening,” they say.

“Evening,” he replies through a strained
voice.

I smile and smooth my hands down my dress
to remove tell-tale creases.

We alight at the fifth level and he stops
at the first door on the long, windowless corridor.

“Next to the lift?” I say with a frown. “It’ll
be noisy all night.”

“You’ll be too busy working to notice,” he
mutters, slotting in the key card, waiting for the green light then shoving at
the door with a wide, flattened palm.

I step in, move past the bathroom and
glance around the high-ceilinged room delicately bathed in the buttery glow
from a brass floor lamp. It’s a perfect square centred with a Queen sized-bed
draped in a bottle-green eiderdown and bursting with pillows. A desk containing
phone, TV, hairdryer and writing paper stands at its base with a minibar
slotted neatly underneath the shining surface. On the far side of the bed a
royal-blue sofa overflowing with densely embroidered cushions blocks drawn
checked curtains. Two wooden occasional tables sit at either side of the sofa
one of which is adorned with a bunch of citrus-coloured flowers.

“It’s nice,” I say.

He shuts the door without responding.
Walks past me, throws his suit jacket on the bed and sits on the sofa. “Stand
in front of me.”

I place my purse by the TV and saunter
with a practiced roll of my hips to where he’s gestured.

“Take a step back,” he says, shifting as if
settling down to watch a long movie.

I do as he asks and wonder where the
softness has gone from his face. He seems all business now. I guess it was the
no kissing on the mouth thing, perhaps I should have forgotten that rule for
tonight, after all, he is pretty hot
—
a good snog would have been nice. But no, I can’t let him think he’s
anything special to me.

“Take off your dress,” he says. “Slow,
real, real slow.”

I let a hint of a smile tickle my lips as
I raise my arms and undo the knot at my nape holding the top half of my dress
in place. I don’t wear a bra, I don’t need to. As soon as the material is free
it falls to my waist and exposes my pert breasts and dark, puckered nipples.

I see a muscle twitch in his cheek as his
eyes devour my tits. I can almost feel his hands on me, can almost imagine long
thick fingers brushing across the tight nubs of my nipples and flicking them
harder still. I feel my body respond just at the thought and the slight weight
of my breasts doubles with need.

I wiggle my hips and tug the soft skirt
over my behind. When I know gravity can take over I straighten and let it fall.
It lands in a heap and I step backwards over it, hook it onto the toe of my
pointed stiletto and send it through the air towards him.

It lands on his knees and produces a hint
of a smile on his solemn face.

I place my hands on my waist and jut my
hips to the left. Raise an eyebrow in a bring-it-on kind of way and arch my
back to show off my slim waist.

“Take off those slutty red pants, whore.”

The rumble of his voice saying such dirty
words vibrates right through me. I hook my fingers into the elastic and feel a
tremble in my skin as the lace rolls into a thin band of material.

Once removed they, too, are shoe-tossed
alongside the dress. He reaches for them, screws them into a ball and shoves
them into his pocket. “I reckon for a thousand quid I get a souvenir.”

I nod and run a hand over my narrow
landing strip of dark pubic hair to make sure it’s at its fluffy best.

“Turn around,” he instructs, undoing his
belt buckle.

I do as he asks and bare my naked behind
for him get off on. Not my best feature, it’s a little on the round side, but I’m
guessing from the straining bulge in his trousers he won’t be too critical.

“Take off your shoes.”

I bend my knees and squat to the floor to
undo the silver straps at my ankles.

“No, no, not like that,” he snaps. “Stand
up. Bend from the middle, touch your toes and shove that whore’s arse in the
air, I want to see you poking out from behind.”

I straighten and feel my pulse quicken.
The blood rushes to my head as I double at the waist directly in front of him
and give him a good view of my most intimate hole, my plump, needy lips and the
juice that’s collecting just for him.

“Very nice,” he says as I struggle with
the second strap. “Perfect in fact.”

When the shoes are off I straighten and
turn to him wearing just my black fishnets. I step right up between his knees
and look down at him. “Tell me,” I say in a husky voice. “What do you want me
to do next for you?”

He reaches out to my pubic hair and slips
a finger through the curls to my clitoris. My knees suddenly feel whacked from
behind and I struggle to remain upright. But he pulls his hand away and the
feeling is over before it’s had a chance to begin.

“Get me a whisky,” he says. “From the mini
bar.”

I catch my breath, hardly believing he can
think of a drink at a time like this. I’m so turned on I feel like I’m
travelling in another dimension. “A whiskey?”

“Yeah, a whiskey. I’m gonna drink it while
you blow me off.”

I move to the minibar, pull out a whiskey
and slosh it into a glass.

“Get your lipstick too,” he orders.

I return and thrust the drink at him,
impatient to get to the main event.

“Hey, slow down, I’m running this show.”
He sits forward so his face is inches from my breasts. Dips a finger into the
amber liquid and slowly traces a wet circle around one nipple and then the
other.

I sigh at the touch I’ve been longing for.
Clench my internal muscles and put a hand out to his rock solid shoulder for
support. I want him to lick the whiskey off and suckle me into his mouth.

He doesn’t
—
instead he blows and the icy cold wetness makes my nipples pucker to
bursting point. I let out a low moan and my eyes flutter shut as he switches attention
from one to the other.

All too soon he leans back into the
cushions and I’m forced to remove my hand from his shoulder. He takes a long,
appreciative sip of his drink and shifts his pelvis towards the edge of the
sofa. “All yours,” he says, taking a deep breath. “But I want more slut red
lipstick first.

I sink my knees between his legs, undo his
suit trouser button and slide down his fly zipper that’s straining with the
erection beneath. He lifts his hips and allows me full access by shoving at his
undergarments. His penis springs out, dark and solid, the shaft heavily veined
and the head shiny and wide. I reach forward and spread my flattened tongue
over the top.

“Lipstick,” he growls over my head.

I pull back, roll up my lipstick and make
a show of applying it ridiculously thick
—
I don’t stay within the borders of my mouth I just shove on as much
as possible. His eyes are wide, his breath finally catching the same pace as
mine as I take his shaft in my hand.

I lean forward and with my slutty red lips
swallow him deep, sliding him over the base of my tongue.

“Oh yes. Whore, do it, do it. Whore.” He
tangles a hand in my hair and applies a steady, dominant pressure. I begin to
bob up and down, letting his thick, smooth head hit the back of my throat every
time. He moans, sighs, shifts his hips upwards and I hear him slosh back a gulp
of whiskey. I revel in his reaction to my skills.

Just as I taste a delicious salty hint of
pre-cum he pulls out of my mouth and tips me back on my heels. “Not like this…
inside you.” His voice is tight and he holds his enormous body tense as if the
slightest movement might tip him over the edge. “Get on the bed.”

I stand, my legs giddy as I feel an
anticipatory spasm of pleasure surge through my body. The thought of him inside
me, filling me, shoving hard and fast into my core has me frantic with
impatience.

I lie on the bed but before I’ve even
positioned myself he’s above me, desire surrounding him like a dark, heavy
cloak. He whips off his plain grey tie and hoists my arms above my head. Thin
silky material binds my wrists and he knots me to the slatted oak headboard.

“Hey,” I make a feeble attempt at
protesting.

 “Shut up, whore,” he says, removing
his shirt.

I’m distracted from my complaint by the
sight of his sculpted chest, patterned with thick coarse curls of hair looming
inches above me.

“This is my show and I’m paying you good
money to do it my way,” he says, shucks down his trousers, toes off his shoes
and socks and mounts the bed beside me.

I can smell him, taste him, I want to feel
him. I manage to raise my head and kiss his chest, but he beats me at my own
game and heads for my tits. Finally I get to feel the roll of his tongue and
the suckling of his mouth pulling me in. I groan and shut my eyes, arch my back
and hope his hand will travel lower.

It does and I feel him parting my slick
flesh like he did in the bar, delving into my moist pussy. “He could see us you
know,” he says as he swaps breasts.

“Who?”

“The barman.”

“What, how?” My eyes ping open and I catch
his wicked grin.

“The reflection in the window, he could
see my hand in your cunt.”

“Oh, shit.” I’m mortified.

“You won’t be able to work The Grosvenor
again.” He laughs at my ruination.

“It’s not funny,” I say, but then catch my
breath as he puts not one but two long thick fingers right inside me and begins
to urge my G-spot into a state of euphoria.

“I didn’t notice the depth of the
reflection until we left.” He goes to kiss my lips.