This weekend is about rest. About putting enough distance between Belle and her parents that she feels safe to start her healing process. To begin to move on with a life of which she’s the sole architect.
A life with me.
She’s limped through the last couple of days at work. We both have, really. I’ve been worried sick about her. Which is why I booked up the largest suite I could get at Cliveden and drove her here after work last night. It’s close enough to London to be convenient and luxurious enough to smooth away those worry lines that have been a permanent fixture on her face since her Dad copped an eyeful of me on Tuesday.
I can’t quite believe it’s only been four days, but despite what this week has cost us in stress, it’s given us a gift, too. It’s allowed me to prove to Belle that I’m all in. That she can count on me to protect her, and celebrate her, and love her without judgement.
I’m so bloody proud of her for standing up to her father with grace and honesty. I know the emotional power that man and his conditional, fucked-up kind of love holds over her. It’s not easy to stand up to your father when your resistance threatens the very thing we should all count on from a parent: unconditional love. I think her speech to him was remarkably gracious given the circumstances, but there’s no doubt she hit the points she needed to make.
Ben is a white, Catholic, middle-aged man who was raised in a patriarchal culture and fully intended to continue that tradition with his own family. He didn’t expect anyone, let alone his obedient little daughter, to call time on his bullshit. Whether he can swallow the ego and self-righteousness so inherent in that identity, and forge a new, healthier relationship with Belle, remains to be seen.
Her act of courage the other evening cost her, though. She’s been a shadow of herself all week. I can’t imagine the toll all of that stress and activated trauma has taken on her body. We’ve had sex a couple of times, and it’s been incredible. Intimate. Almost spiritual. It’s been a way of strengthening our connection, proving our trust in each other and declaring our love.
But it hasn’t been dirty.
And while that’s not a problem, a tiny part of me is concerned that Belle’s second-guessing her morals again.
That, while she stood up in no uncertain terms for her right to own her life, her brain and her body, she’s secretly worried those unforgivable things her dad said to her may surface if she steps too far into what she sees as the darkness again.
I haven’t set foot in Alchemy all week, not even during the day. We haven’t discussed if and when she’d like to go ahead with the Adieu session about which she was so excited. I’ll never push my own agenda with Belle, but I don’t want her forgoing pleasure, denying her own desires, because she’s been made to feel guilty for having them.
I can’t handle seeing her cowed and shamed.
I want to see her fucking shameless.
She’s spent the past couple of hours having a deluxe full-body massage. It seemed time to enlist professional help with drawing all of that stored-up tension out of her body. I’m relaxing on our bed in our old-school, over-furnished room, reading some dull-as-fuck Morgan Stanley strategy report on the outlook for global equity markets, when the door opens.
It’s Belle. And she’s smiling. Her hair is loose and mussed up. If I had to guess, her scalp didn’t escape the masseur’s fingers.
The wellbeing in her expression makes me grin. I chuck the research report on the floor and stretch my arms behind my head. ‘You look relaxed.’
‘I’m like a rag doll,’ she says. ‘That was unbelievable.’ She comes towards me, and there’s something in the way she sashays, in the hunger in her eyes as she gives me the once over in just my swim shorts like I’m a piece of meat, that has my interest piqued.
‘Good,’ I drawl. ‘See something you like?’
‘Oh yes.’ She climbs on the bed and straddles me, and her robe gapes open.
I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘Did you go to the spa in just your robe?’
‘No. I had my bikini on, remember? But it got wet in the hydrotherapy bit. It’s in the bag.’
‘Um-hmm.’ The sight of her golden skin is playing havoc with my cock. Her robe’s fallen open almost to the navel, and it’s sliding up her legs. I can have everything on show in three seconds flat, if I want. But it’s her face that’s distracting me most. Her demeanour.
‘But I walked back naked,’ she says, smirking at me.
Something shifts. She walked through the whole fucking hotel with nothing on but a robe. To come back to me. And she’s delighted with herself.
I take a punt. ‘You’re a very bad girl. They probably thought you were a hooker.’ I slide my hands up her well-oiled thighs, shifting the robe further open. And I wait.
She hesitates for a second. ‘They said the gentleman in the Lady Astor suite required some servicing.’
We stare at each other. Then:
‘Damn fucking right he does,’ I growl. I yank her robe off and leave her naked and straddling me.
Fuck me, she’s perfect. Her tits are so high and round, her already-hard nipples playing peek-a-boo through hair that looks just-fucked. Her knees are pushed wide on the bed. I know exactly how I’ll find her if I reach between her legs, and I can’t resist doing just that.
I sit forward and run my fingertip from front to back, over the already-swollen bud of her clit, through the perfect slickness of her seam to the entrance to her cunt. She’s heaven. She moans, long and low and shuddery, a sound that goes straight to my cock.
‘That feel good?’ I grunt.
‘Yes, sir,’ she whimpers, and Jesus fucking Christ, the woman I love being my willing whore is almost too hot to handle. I circle her entrance again, just to hear her moan.
‘You want more?’
‘Yes please, sir.’ She grinds down on my finger, but I pull it out.
‘Then get on my face,’ I tell her. I motion to her to pull herself up onto her knees, then I slide further down between her legs so my head’s on my pillows and I’m lying stretched out flat on the bed. I crook my finger at her. ‘I said get over here.’
She crawls up the bed. I hook my hands behind her knees and pull her impatiently over me.
She looms above me in all her golden glory, staring down at me. In response, my lips curve into a wicked smile, because her pussy is right there. I can feel and smell the wet heat pumping off her, her unique musk mingling with whatever decadent oil the masseuse used on her. We’re definitely stocking up on a few bottles of that before we leave here.
My hands go to her waist. ‘Hold on to the headboard, gorgeous,’ I growl, and I yank her down onto my face.
A muffled groan of pleasure and appreciation escapes me. It sounds like mmph, but in my head it’s yes! Because Belle is too much for my senses. She’s my everything, right here, her wet, needy, delicious flesh already rubbing against me to take what she needs as she rides my face.
I devour her with my lips, my tongue. I tug her forward and plunge my tongue as far inside her as I can before licking a slow, dragging line along the plump wetness of her seam. As I find her clit and settle there with lavish laps, my hands slide up her side to find her tits. As soon as they clamp over her soft skin, she moans harder, and her forehead hits the ridiculously over-stuffed headboard.
‘Oh, God, yes, exactly,’ she pants out, her forehead rolling against the headboard as she twists her head from side to side. ‘My nipples, please sir, harder—’
Her fevered entreaty so vividly recalls that blessed entry in the Unfurl questionnaire—Yes. Exactly this. Please—that my sac draws up even tighter and my cock twitches.
Jesus, she’s so fucking hot. I adore seeing her like this, already lost to herself, to the lightly sketched fantasy we’re sharing. To the sensations threatening to take over her body. I reward her with hard pinches to both taut little nipples as I tense my tongue and work her clit harder. It’s so swollen with blood. I tongue her harder, working my stubbled mouth against her more abrasively as I tweak and roll her nipples and soak up the taste of her and the sounds of her whimpers as she grinds her pussy against my face.
Then she’s coming, gasping and choking out cries and rubbing her forehead against the headboard as she arches into the touch of my hands. I have a front-row seat, and it’s fucking incredible.
She stills, dragging a hand down her face as she emits the little post-orgasm giggle I’ve come to love. She shimmies her hips back a little, releasing my mouth, and my hands slide down her sides to her thighs.
‘I need you on my cock,’ I rasp. ‘Now. I want my money’s worth.’
She reaches behind her and wraps her hand around my impossibly hard shaft. I shudder. Fuck me, that feels good. Her tiger eyes don’t leave mine as she pumps. ‘Yes, sir,’ she says, biting down on her lip, and I shake my head.
The little minx is going to get it.
I snatch the box of condoms from the bedside table and pass one to her. ‘Put it on.’ I’m desperate for us to go bare, but I need a full suite of tests done first before I expose my beautiful girlfriend to any health risks. She’s on the pill already—something to do with irregular periods—but I won’t go within a mile of her bare till I’m sure I’m clean.
She shimmies further down my body and deftly rolls the condom on while I press my lips together and attempt not to disgrace myself. My little Belle is a fast learner. Then she’s lowering herself onto me, taking the time she needs to adjust to my size. We’re still getting there on that front. She pauses, wincing.
‘Here.’ I grab the lube and she holds out her hand. I squeeze some out onto her fingertips and watch with extreme gratification as she uses a couple to stroke herself, to dip inside herself and get herself as slick as she needs to be to take me. Then she’s lowering herself back down, and I’m bowled over by the sight and the feeling of my cock disappearing into her impossibly tight, hot channel.
‘Good girl,’ I grit out as she sits right down, sheathing me fully. I’m balls-deep in her, my cock locked in the grip of those tight muscles, and I vow to take her bare as soon as humanly possible, to remove that last barrier between us.
She’s moving slowly up and down, acclimatising to me as she does, and the drag of her most intimate parts against mine is fucking excruciating.
This is everything.
I lie back and let this glorious honey-blonde goddess work me, her perfect high tits bouncing as she picks up her pace. She grinds down, again and again, and I’m as transfixed by the growing arousal on her stunning face as I am by the friction she’s giving my cock. I need to blow.
But there’s no bloody way I’m going off before her.
Each time she sinks down on me, I thrust up into her hard, and her sighs threaten to become moans. She’s growing agitated; her eyes are glassing over and her mouth is twisting as she takes my cock over and over. She throws her head back, arching.
She is fucking spectacular.
‘Tell me how it feels,’ I rasp.
‘It’s an ache,’ she breathes, ‘and it’s so deep, you know? It’s so—God. Oh, God.’
That strangled God comes as I drive my cock up into her as hard as I can. Jesus fuck, this woman will be the death of me.
‘I know,’ I tell her. I grab another pillow and stuff it behind my head so I can sit up slightly and get my fingers where I want them.
Right on her clit. I massage her slick button and she practically shoots off the bed.
‘Remember, I’m your client,’ I tell her. ‘I’m paying for a good show. I want to see you fucking desperate for it. Okay? Touch your tits. Touch everywhere that feels good—you’re going to go off like a rocket for me. Got it?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she manages, grabbing a hair-tie from her wrist and bundling her hair up into a huge, messy top-knot. The arch of her body when she holds her arms above her head like that is a true work of art. But then her slim fingers are fondling her nipples, and she’s rising and falling on my cock like a pro, and her clit is filling up with blood under my touch, and this.
This is the best fucking spectacle in the whole world.
Especially because the look of rapture on her face tells me she’s not putting it on for me.
My queen is taking purely for her own pleasure in this moment. She’s riding me, hard, her stupendous muscles dragging along my length in a way that’s making me dizzy with the need for release, she’s rubbing her tits and pushing down on my dick and into my touch, lost to everything except the sensation of my flesh against hers and that fire I’m stoking deep inside her core.
My goddess is back, riding me more shamelessly than I could have dared to hope for, taking and taking and, in return, giving me more than she knows. She’s so beautifully, perfectly wanton in this moment that she takes my breath away.
‘Take it,’ I tell her through ragged breaths, because holy fuck, I’m close. ‘Take every inch of me into that tight little pussy. You need my cock so badly, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she practically weeps, and then she’s coming hard, bucking and riding and shuddering her way through her orgasm as her beautiful internal muscles flutter and dance around my dick. I grip her waist hard with my free hand, so hard I’ll probably leave bruises, and I thrust up again and again, spilling everything I have into the fucking condom before I hook a hand around the back of her neck and tug her down to me for desperate, hungry kisses and delirious I love yous.
‘I think it’s safe to say you’re back,’ I tell her as I kiss her tenderly. I disposed of the condom at the speed of light so we could curl into each other. I stroke her face as it lights up with a smile so open my heart may not survive it.
‘I was thinking that, too.’ She traces the outline of my jaw with her fingertip, her soft skin grazing my stubble. ‘You’re my incredibly kinky magician.’
‘You mean client,’ I growl, and she throws back her head and laughs.
‘That reminds me, you can leave my money on the desk.’
‘Un-fucking-believable,’ I murmur against her lips. ‘But worth every penny.’
She stills as I kiss her, my hand smoothing over her hair as I hold her to me. ‘I love you,’ I tell her. ‘I’m far too old for you, and I should leave you to find a nice guy your own age, but I’m also far too selfish. I can’t let you go.’
‘I think our souls are the same age,’ she whispers, her eyes searching mine. ‘It doesn’t feel like you’re older than me. Except, obviously, for all those extra years you’ve spent honing your skills.’
She grins, and my heart shatters in the most exquisite way. I want to spend my life looking at the world through Belle’s eyes. I want to stand by her side in front of every sunset and every artistic masterpiece the world has to offer and have the singular privilege of knowing the most exquisite human being on the planet is soaking up that magic beside me. That it’s feeding her beautiful soul.
‘If my skills give you pleasure, then that’s good with me,’ I tell her, smoothing an errant strand of gold off her face. ‘But I have no intention of practising those skills on anyone but you ever again. I have everything I need right here.’
She’s silent for a moment. Thoughtful. Then she shrugs. ‘I suppose that means Adieu’s off the table.’
My eyes widen. My predictable cock twitches. She hasn’t mentioned it since all the shit with her dad went down, and I certainly haven’t brought it up. Planning a potential orgy isn’t the most obvious way to assuage your girlfriend’s moral crisis.
‘You know you get whatever you want, Belle,’ I tell her. ‘You’re right at the start of your journey, and I never want to clip your wings. I’ve been around the block enough times to know what I do and don’t want, whereas you need to experiment. You owe it to yourself.’
‘Shh,’ she says gently. ‘You know I want you. Only you. I mean, God. Look at us just now. I came so hard—I don’t need anyone else. I love you. The idea of anyone else’s dick inside me still makes me feel as horrified as it did when Gen tried to persuade me to shag Alex.’
I laugh, gratified and humbled in equal measure by what this young, young woman is prepared to sacrifice for me.
She tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth and shoots me a saucy look.
‘But… Adieu’s still technically part of the programme, correct?’
I smile wolfishly. ‘Correct.’
‘And, you know, it means goodbye.’
‘Your mastery of the French language is staggering.’
She sticks her sweet little pink tongue out at me, and I laugh. ‘So I’m thinking maybe we could say goodbye to the programme in style? Maybe with the help of a few other… hands? A wise man once told me knowing my maths was important.’
I snigger. ‘Definitely. What did you have in mind, sweetheart?’
‘Well.’ She traces a fingertip down my chest. ‘The massage gave me an idea…’