All Of Her (Fantasy Heights)

All Of Her

Fantasy Heights, Book 4

by Meg Silver

All Of Her

Fantasy Heights, Book 4

by Meg Silver

Copyright 2012, Meg Silver

All rights reserved.

The author of this work holds sole publishing rights. For information regarding permissions, email Meg Silver at [email protected].

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Edition Notes:

Mg12Ag47:Beryllium

GR:061313

Fantasy Heights, Book 4

Amanda took her foot off the accelerator. The pedal was no use now that the car had begun to chug and lurch. Very soon, the sleek black sedan’s engine would cut out entirely, stranding her, the hapless female motorist, on a long gravel drive following the lakeshore.

Right on cue, the engine stalled. Gravel popped beneath the tires as the car rolled to a stop mere feet from a gate breaking a long line of vine-covered fence.

Amanda draped an arm over the steering wheel and leaned forward in the seat, peering into the woods. Past the fence, hiding from a brilliant afternoon sun inside a phalanx of pine and oak trees, stood Haynes House. A solid rectangle of native stone, wood and glass, it was the oldest building on the Fantasy Heights resort, built nearly two-hundred years ago.

Waiting inside was her mystery client. Amanda hadn’t worked up the courage to find out who he really was. Asking questions could endanger her job, or at the very least, cost her this client.

She did know one thing about him: He must have an awfully compelling need to hide his identity. There had been plenty of times in the heat of the moment where he might have forgotten himself and spoke aloud, or let her blindfold slip, but he was always on his guard. Either the guy had superhuman self-control, or some powerful self-preservation instincts. And she couldn’t help but worry about why he would take such a chance to be with her. Nor could she help feeling protective of him. Connected.

Her thoughts took a guilty flinch toward Thomas, her trainer. He would not approve of this connection she felt to a client. But then Thomas, apparently, didn’t approve of connections in general. He made sure their relationship was problematic enough.

Amanda still hadn’t talked to Thomas about the wedding. Or as Josh put it, called Thomas’s bluff. She needed to tell Thomas that his maybe-girlfriend, Gail Warnous, was cheating on him, but Thomas would not allow it unless she promised to take him and Josh to her stepsister’s wedding.

By the end of today, she planned to have it out with Thomas. She needed to tell him exactly what she thought of the thick lines he imposed between their personal and professional lives. Those lines only seemed to work one way. It was perfectly fine for Thomas to bring up her stepsister and former fiancé’s wedding whenever he felt like it. But God forbid she tell Thomas about the kiss she’d witnessed between Marla and Gail. Talk about a double standard. The more Amanda thought about it, the madder she got.

Figuring it probably wasn’t too bright to get herself all worked up moments before stepping onto a set, she pushed her ornery trainer to the back burner. After this performance, she would find him. Tell him off. She would feel much better once the air was cleared.

In the meantime, she had a very hot, very sensual mystery client waiting for her to fulfill his fantasy. She got out of the car, running over the sketchy script one more time. She was supposed to play the stranded motorist, lost in the back of beyond where her cellphone didn’t work. She’d come upon this lonely old house, and when no one answered her knock, she would wander inside to use the landline. Walk right into his trap.

Long ago, Haynes House had been a chapel. She found traces in the stone moldings and gothic windows. Where the altar might once have been stood an empty fireplace. Overhead, copper ceiling fans gleamed. Multiple doors led off the main section. Ahead and to her right, the door she was supposed to enter stood ajar.

Pausing, she called out her one and only scripted line. “Hello? Anyone here?”

She would not get an answer, she knew, and continued onward, nudging the door open and slipping through. The entire wall opposite the door was glass, showcasing a serene expanse of dark jade water. Brilliant sunlight outside burned the room around her into a darkened hollow. All she could make out was the bed near the window, and a white satin blindfold waiting on the duvet.

From a shadowed corner came a quiet greeting: their observer, the one who always accompanied this client. She nodded toward the sound to acknowledge him.

A soft footfall brushed the rug near her feet. Excited prickles chilled the skin at her nape, and she started, but went very still as a hand closed over her mouth, and a strong arm circled her waist.

Captured, she obeyed the abbreviated script by wriggling and squirming while he lifted her, hauling her closer to the bed. He nipped, more playful than forceful, at the back of her neck. His mouth raised gooseflesh, cold on her breasts and arms but blazing hot beneath.

She gasped as her thighs connected with the duvet, the sound trapped behind a palm that came away a moment later, descending to her right breast. His fingers pinched the nipple through her baby-blue sundress. The muffled quality of the touch made her mewl in frustration.

Her client must have felt something similar. Both his hands convened at her top button. He fumbled with the tiny disc for a moment, then simply made fists in the fabric over her ribs and pulled until buttons went pinging off in every direction. Bright sunlight and cool air caressed her breasts.

He cupped her breasts, skin to skin this time. Fingers rolled nipples and transmitted scalding messages down to her pussy. He continued to nuzzle her neck, sometimes kissing, sometimes biting. She wanted to melt, right there, but his script demanded she keep up the fight. And fight she did, squirming, grinding her buttocks against the erection pressing into the small of her back.

And then she noticed the reflection in the windows before her. The sun was high in the sky. At that angle, the reflection showed her breasts and his hands. Nothing higher, damn it. No helpful scar or tattoo to help identify him later. All she could tell for certain was that he had dark hair, given what she could see on his arms, and she didn’t need the sadly worthless reflection to show her that. But maybe once they were in bed together, she’d see more of him than he realized.

She ought to have known better. The surprise of spotting him in the glass had made her stop struggling. Her client was paying attention. The next moment, the blindfold descended. She forgot herself momentarily and stood still for him, more intent that he continue than sneaking a clue to his identity.

As soon as the blindfold was in place, softly padded handcuffs followed. Oh, she liked this unscripted part very much, and liked it even better as he propelled her a couple feet back toward the door. When he stopped, he lifted her arms overhead, and hooked the cuffs onto something. Now she was trapped, breasts exposed, sundress barely clinging to her hips.

With anyone else, she might fear surrendering control, but she trusted this client completely. He couldn’t have been more gentle or maddening as he took full advantage. After stripping the sundress and sandals off, he began to touch and kiss, starting with her throat, exploring every inch as he went along. He lavished attention on her breasts, biting each achingly sensitized nipple before drawing them between his teeth, pulling for a little extra torment.

Behind the blindfold, she closed her eyes on the strong, charged sensations. God, he made everything feel amazing. He moved lower, trailing a scratchy chin down to her navel. He was on his knees by now, and a starburst of heat bloomed in her pussy. He was working his way there, and she had no doubt he planned to wreak utter havoc before letting her come.

Underlining the fact that he was very much in control, he took his hands and mouth away, leaving her stranded and writhing. What was he doing? Why had he stopped?

The next touch came to an unexpected place: her ankle. She frowned, but then almost allowed a groaned laugh to slip out when she felt yet another padded cuff snap closed. More restraints. Was she still supposed to be fighting? Because mostly she wanted hold her other ankle steady to be nice and helpful, and encourage him to do whatever he pleased, as long as he did it fast and hard and repeatedly.

He needed no encouragement or direction. She whimpered with impatient delight as he took hold of her other ankle and pushed her legs apart—far apart—before securing the other cuff.

Spreader bar. Now that she was practically immobilized, he could have his way with her. There would be absolutely nothing she could do to stop him. But who would want to, she wondered. She gasped as he went straight to where she wanted him most, wiggling two fingers into her pussy, thrusting them home.

He pumped them in and out. Five times. Six. Each invasion turned up the volume on the sensations inside. She could feel how wet she’d become, how slippery. And he liked to play this way, keeping her suspended, balanced on the balls of her feet, unable to close her legs.

Her mystery client stayed on his knees to rest his forehead against her belly. He continued to bang her, sometimes deep, sometimes gently. He kept his other hand at the small of her back, holding her still.

She wriggled a bit. Talking was never encouraged on set, but she wanted to warn him that petting her this way would not work to prolong anything. In fact, if he didn’t stop, she would soon lose all control and disappoint him by coming before he wanted. No amount of discipline could withstand the twin enemies of affection and that much stimulation.

The wriggling didn’t work. If he understood the message, he ignored it. He even made things infinitely worse by taking the hand away from her back, lubricating a finger in her own juices, then driving it firmly, not gently, into her ass.

This time, she couldn’t help it. She cried out. It was so overwhelming. He pumped away inside her, first into her pussy, then into her ass. She wanted to grind against his hands. In that position all she could manage was a slight rocking motion.

A moment later, she wished she hadn’t. Her client lit the fuse once and for all by pressing his two fingers deeper than ever into her cunt, his fingertips seeking, then pressing hard against her g-spot. His other hand continued to work, in and out, pumping and twisting inside her anus.

Her connection to awareness began to close like a camera’s shutter. Everything narrowed around her, compressing into nothing but the pleasure he unleashed with those hands. This was what he wanted. He absolutely meant to make her come right away like this, a deep, prolonged, infinitely satisfying orgasm.

In this, she did not disappoint him. Once she could fight no longer, she bucked and pulsed helplessly against his hands, freefalling. He’d allow her to glide for a moment or two but then renew his efforts. She came and came, gasping and grinding and doing everything she could to keep it going for him.

Eventually though, it had to end. When she fell quiet once more, panting and quaking, he applied his mouth to her pussy. He lapped and tasted for a while, then began to free her from the bar. His hands were not quite as gentle and commanding as before. Now he felt more insistent, his own need for release grown to the point of urgency.

She was eager to extract herself from the cuffs. Once she was free, she found herself drawn into his arms. Amanda kissed him, hard and long, telling him the only way she could that she liked their time together, and not just professionally. The way he kissed and held her, as if he couldn’t get close enough, had a powerful effect. Whatever the script may have implied about the roles of aggressor on this set, she no longer cared. She took control, backing him toward the bed.

She met some resistance at first, but he relented. He was nude already, and though the blindfold didn’t make it easy to get him positioned the way she wanted, she succeeded in propping him against the pillows. She made him bend his knees and plant his feet shoulder-width apart. Once he was settled she lowered her head to tongue his balls, a light, teasing tickle. She heard his breath catch, felt him arch his back, as if the sensation had been stronger than he’d expected.

She did it again, this time taking firm grasp of his shaft. While he was still writhing, she kissed the heated tip of his cock. Again, he reacted, hissing air between his teeth. And then she was lost to it, desirous of giving him as much pleasure as he’d already given. She played with his tip, tonguing him, kissing, sucking. For a while, she held onto his shaft with one hand, fondled his balls with the other. His cock was rock hard by then, the tip blazing hot, but he would not let himself go.