Delecto - Games of Mastery (part 1) (6 page)

“
Oh
Sebastian, it's completely stunning, in fact it's taken my breath
away,” I whispered.

“
I agree,
it does. I stand here every morning when I wake up and thank God
for giving me that view. I know I've created much of it myself, but
I appreciate how lucky I am having the money and the opportunity to
do so, to create my own little fantasy, my own Garden of Eden, to
live here and to see that vision.” I turned my head to look at him.
That was so unexpected and beautiful. His voice was full of
feeling. My heart stirred wildly with his sentiment. He appeared to
be an intense, deep and thoughtful man. His gaze was held
hypnotically by the picture-postcard scene before us. I turned back
to the garden, to admire it further.

“
You
created this yourself?”

“
With a
lot of help from my landscaper, but the design and planting are all
mine,” he explained, our eyes meeting briefly.

“
You
obviously have an artistic eye. I have a nice view from my room
too, but not quite up to this standard,” I said, with a little
giggle. “We’re downtown in a penthouse. I can see the harbor and
the city from the upper decks. It’s pretty, but a different kind of
pretty. The night time view is best.”

“
Thomas
Park, isn’t it? Richard mentioned it in passing. Actually, I’ve
just remembered, I’m in Boston for an event tomorrow evening. Maybe
I could drop by and see your view?”

“
Sorry,
I’m not in tomorrow,” I lied. The thought of Sebastian standing in
my apartment made me feel strange, a little unsettled and
uncomfortable.

“
Perhaps
another time. I often visit Boston for one reason or another. I'll
give you a call.”

Oh God, why
did I give him my card? Damn and hell’s bells.

“
And I’ll
take down your address later.”

“
Sure,” I
said, hoping he’d forget.

“
Right,
the hub of the house next. Let’s go see the kitchen.”

We left his
bedroom and his sublime view behind. I’d really enjoyed being in
that room. It had created an oddly sensual experience for me. The
light, the scent, the innate quality. It was smart but not showy.
Much like the man. The conversation about the painting, the roses
and the view had been wonderful.

Have I ever
communicated so easily with a virtual stranger before?

But, that was
enough for one day. I couldn't allow myself to become too
comfortable with him or to continue to enjoy our interaction to
this degree.

We passed by
two other rooms that he didn’t show me. I wondered what they were.
My curiosity was aroused, but of course I didn’t ask. It was his
house and his choice which rooms he chose to show me and those he
wished to keep private.

Bertrand was
busy cleaning the kitchen counter-tops, but looked up to say hello
as we entered.

“
Ah,
mademoiselle...”

“
Hello
again,” I replied with a smile.

“
Amanda's
staying for dinner this evening. Got anything special up your
sleeve?”

“
Oh no,
don’t go to any trouble over me,” I protested.

“
Believe
me, Bertrand loves to show off his cooking skills.”

“
It will
be a pleasure. Is there anything you don't like to eat?” Bertrand
inquired.

“
No,
nothing at all. I’m easy to please.”

“
In that
case, I shall make a special effort to please you with something
so
mm
your taste buds will
explode in appreciation.” He kissed his fingers and
chuckled.

I laughed at
his enthusiasm. I decided Bertrand wasn’t as stuffy as I first
imagined. He was warm, pleasant, easygoing in nature and, I
suspected, quite amusing on the sly.

“
And
choose us a good bottle to suit,” Sebastian said.

“
All will
be perfect. Now go, leave me to it.”

“
In just
a moment, we’ll be out of your hair. But first, can we have some
drinks on the terrace, please?”

“
Some
fruit cocktails?” Bertrand asked, his eyes flicking to mine for
approval.

“
Oh yes,
that’ll be lovely, thank you.” My mouth watered at the mere thought
of something sweet and tangy, filled with ice and little slices of
fruit in the mix.

We left
Bertrand to prepare our drinks and Sebastian led me around the
stunning living rooms, of which there were two. One was a music
room, with a beautiful white grand piano.

“
Do you
play?” I asked him.

“
Sometimes, when I’m in the mood.”

How I wished he
was in the mood now, because I simply adored the piano.

But it seemed
he was not. My face dropped. I couldn't help but show my
disappointment as we moved on, leaving the unplayed joys of the
grand behind.

We passed
through the sumptuous dining room with its inch-thick black glass
table and white chairs, and finally left the house through a pair
of open doors, which led out to the gardens.

Sebastian
placed his hand in the small of my back and guided me to the table.
I didn’t find the experience that unpleasant. He was very courteous
and pulled out a chair for me. I sat facing the green expanse of
grass and the abundance of roses. Their exotic fragrance was
hanging in the warmth of the late afternoon air like an invisible
blanket.

“
Jesus,
you must really hate roses.” I smiled wryly, gazing across the rows
and rows of bushes I could see.

“
They’re
my obsession.”

“
Really?”
It was obvious, by the vast number here, that he liked them, but I
was fascinated that a man like him could be obsessed with flowers.
It seemed to be such a feminine trait. He was so masculine in most
other ways. He traded the metal markets for a living, making a pile
of money, lived like a king in a castle, wore very smart tailoring
and drove a fantasy male car. How on earth did roses and pretty
views fit into his world?

My eyes drifted
down to his mouth and back up again to his eyes. They shone
brightly as he spoke of his obsession.

“
The
first thing that captured my interest was their scent. Could
anything else ever smell so decadent, sensual and powerful? I could
bury my nose in the perfume for hours. And I’m fascinated by the
way the buds are tightly furled and then slowly unravel, petal by
petal into full flower.” I stared at his face, transfixed by his
passion. “Roses have the ability to arouse the senses profoundly
but have an underlying wickedness about them that I can’t help but
admire. And they’re symbolic of so many emotions and states of
being. Love, passion, forgiveness, happiness, purity. There's a
rose suitable for conveying just about anything. They're the
sweetest perfection of nature, capable of capturing a man’s heart
with their beauty. But they possess the power to hurt him badly, to
make him bleed. Much like women can.”

I think my jaw
had hit the floor. Was this man for real? That was incredible. I
laughed in nervous reaction...

He rested his
forearms on the table, his face deadly serious and darkly
intense.

“
You find
that amusing?” He narrowed his eyes, looking a little
hurt.

“
No, just
surprising.”

“
I've
surprised you? In what way?”

“
Men
rarely speak with such an intensity of feeling, or so I
gather.”

He smiled at
me.

“
I don’t
do it that often, but you’ve managed to hit my happy spot
twice.”

“
Have I
now?”

“
My view
and the roses. I think I’ve overdone my loquacity today. I’ll shut
up now, and revert to male stereotype.”

I laughed at
his admission.

My earlier
concerns about him seemed to be vanishing in a puff of smoke.

Despite what I
thought I knew, from my first impressions of him in his study, he
was just so lovely to talk to. He was polite, charming,
complimentary, and full of words that I liked to hear. Sebastian
was a very unusual man and one I was becoming very interested in,
despite myself. I'd never met anyone like him before.

Bertrand
arrived with our drinks on a tray. He placed two white paper
napkins on the table and the drinks carefully upon them.

“
Thank
you,” I said in a tone that didn’t hide my excitement at all. My
mouth watered heavily and I gulped loudly. I was about to explode
with desire for the bright red drink standing before me. It was
presented in a swirling cocktail glass, with a strawberry
straddling the rim and a sprig of mint curling over the edge. A
white straw sat inside, tempting my lips to come hither.

“
It is my
pleasure. So, sante...enjoy.” He smiled at me and then addressed
Sebastian. “Dinner will be served at six.”

“
Thank
you, Bertrand. What would I do without you?”

“
That is
a very good question, sir.”

And he
departed, humming to himself, cheerfully.

I picked up my
freezing cold glass of juice and took a long draw on the straw.

It hit my taste
buds in a sublime burst of gorgeous citrus-sharp flavors, the
crushed ice tingling my whole mouth alive and competing for space
with the taste experience on my tongue.

“
Wow,
what
is
this divine
concoction?”

“
Strawberry daiquiri, the rum-free version.”

“
Oh, my
God!” I exclaimed as I sucked some more into my mouth. “I think
I’ve died and gone to strawberry heaven.”

I shut my eyes
and sucked hard on the straw in a state of bliss.

“
That's a
highly orgasmic look on your face,” he said with a dirty little
chuckle.

His words hit
me like a shock wave. I simply couldn’t talk orgasms with my
client. But neither did I wish to appear the little innocent in his
eyes by blushing, giggling and flustering, which I felt about to
do. I gulped my mouthful of drink down as calmly as I could,
offering a careful and subtly worded reply.

“
I
wouldn't go that far, but it’s more than pleasant.” I even managed
to smile briefly and kept my blush at bay. I took another delicious
sip, trying not to look so pleasured as I must have looked
before.

“
You
really can't top a tantalizing oral experience, can you?” he said,
looking at me directly.

Amazingly I
didn’t choke on my straw. I couldn't stop my eyes from widening,
wondering what was going to come out of his mouth next. And I
didn't have to wait long. He placed his drink on the table and
leaned forward on his forearms.

“
Amanda,
I’m about to be very honest with you, on a personal
level.”

I stared at him
in a sudden state of acute concern. I didn’t think I wanted him to
be very honest with me, on a personal level.

“
Whatever
it is you are about to say, please don’t,” I replied with an icy
coolness.

“
Why?”

“
Because
I assure you I won’t want to hear it.”

“
I think
you will.”

“
Let's
not go there, okay?”

He took a sip
of his drink and sat back, his eyes flicking up and down my body,
in a sensual look that had me flaming inside, despite myself.

“
Maybe
I’ll go there later. You’ll be more open to me then.”

His lips curled
into a small smile. Unsurprisingly, it had a touch of wickedness
about it.

Open to him?
How? My mind, my heart, my legs?

It all hit me
like I’d run into a brick wall.

I focused hard
and pushed aside his amusing dialogue, his charming personality and
devilishly handsome grin.

Well done, Mr.
Shaw. You deserve an Oscar.

It was all a
well-orchestrated act. He’d taken me for a fool. Well, almost. But
I was on his case now. I made my summation, informing my inner jury
that he’d been caught red handed and the evidence as to why.

The sweet
talking and compliments when we first met, designed to initially
soften my resistance—his probing into my personal life to reinforce
his interest—the removal of my so-called stray eyelash, which I’m
beginning to doubt existed. I suspect he wanted to touch me, simply
to test my response to him. I'd obviously given him a big green
light on the touch test. Then there had been the tour round the
house to acquaint myself with his home, particularly his bedroom,
his sensual personal space. A place I felt a pleasurable ease to be
in, when we visited it again, as he no doubt planned—these
fast-acting, orgasmic love potions on the terrace to ready my mouth
for more oral enjoyment with his later—a little bit of dirty talk
to get some intimacy flowing—a sensual dinner for two, probably
candlelit, with a large glass of wine, to get the intimacy flowing
further...

The
overwhelming evidence pointed in one direction. I was being
seduced.

He was the
spider catching the fly. Tempting my little bug into his web of
male-spun beauty. Maneuvering me into a place where he could roll
my unsuspecting body up in his masculine silk and imprison me. Then
he could suck the living daylights out of me later, when he wanted
a sweet little bedtime snack.

A few seconds
had passed and the looks between us were intensifying.

But not the way
he imagined things were developing.