Sexy as Hell Box Set (7 page)

How the hell did she know what lay in my soul? And I didn’t have a dark part to it.

Did I?

I turned to her, tried not to breathe in the spiced perfume she was wearing. It made me think of a trip I’d taken to Morocco with Helen—sultry nights, rich food, a beautiful woman in my bed each night.

Zara was beautiful, too, I couldn’t deny that. Her cheekbones held a hint of an apple shape but were high and defined. Her nose was small and perfectly straight, her nostrils tiny, the flare of them hardly visible. She had a cute mole beneath them. Her lips were plump, and I would forever be able to picture them with a blob of my warm cum at the centre of the bottom one. But it was her eyes. You could call them hazel, kind of brown, with flecks, but they were more than that. The flecks glinted gold, the irises rimmed with black, and her pupils, they dilated when she was excited, when she teased me, shocked me, made me step out of my comfort zone.

She thought I wasn’t perceptive, that I was just a ‘virgin’, but she’d thought wrong. I’d learned about her eyes.

“So drive,” she said, sitting back and delving into a plus-sized red handbag. “You do know the way to Soho, don’t you?” She tugged out her mobile phone.

“Yes, but—”

“Carlos, darling, it’s me. Listen, I need a favour.”

I glanced across at her as I pulled onto the road. Who the hell was Carlos?

“I’m wonderful, thank you.” She giggled and tipped her head back. “Yes, of course, oh, definitely I’d be up for that. Anytime. Just say the word.”

The deep rumble of a man’s voice echoed towards me, but not loud enough that I could discern any words. What the hell was Carlos offering her that she’d be up for anytime?

“Yes, he’s coming tonight.” Pause. “He’ll be absolutely fine.” She reached across and squeezed my knee. “I have every faith in his potential.”

Once again I let my attention leave the road, stared at her.

She caught my gaze and winked.

I pursed my lips, gripped the wheel and briefly watched my knuckles pale. I slowed then stopped at a red light and wished my cock wasn’t stirring just at her light touch on my leg.

Witch.

She removed her hand, and I missed the heat of her flesh seeping through my jeans and onto my skin.

“But I really need him to relax,” Zara was saying, “so do you think you’d pop his car in Samson’s garage. I know he’ll be on edge if it’s on the street. Blokes his age are like that about their wheels.”

I opened my mouth but no words came out. Bloody cheek. Blokes my age? What was I? About eight, nine years older than her? Certainly no more than that.

But what could I say? I’d just been about to point out that leaving my car outside number six Eden Street was not an option. Zara had read me like a book, when for me she was like reading Japanese—backwards.

“That’s great, we’ll meet you out the front in twenty. And make sure you’re ready for tonight’s show, won’t you.” She snapped her mobile shut then dropped it into the gaping mouth of her bag.

“You really think I’m going to hand the keys of a hundred-and-twenty-thousand-pound car over to someone I don’t know?” I laughed, but not with humour.

“Yes.”

“Then you thought wrong.” I shook my head.

“No I didn’t.” She flipped down the sun visor, slid the little cover back from the mirror and pursed her lips at her reflection.

“This time, Zara, you’re asking too much.” The lights changed and I pulled away, still heading for Soho. I split my concentration between her and the road.

She drew out a lipstick, slicking vivid red over her pout. Pressed her lips together and then checked her teeth.

“Seriously, too much,” I said again, when she appeared not to have heard me.

“Victor, baby.” She snapped the visor back up and tucked the lipstick away. “I haven’t even started asking things of you yet. And when I do, I promise you’ll say yes, every single fucking time.”

I didn’t feel entirely comfortable handing my precious Porsche keys over to Carlos. A big brute of a man, Spanish if I was correct in placing his accent. But what choice did I have? I had to go with Zara and watch her show.

Luckily Zara seemed to have a bond with Carlos, and I could only hope, because he seemed enraptured by her, he’d look after my car.

If all else failed, the damn thing was insured. It would just be difficult to explain the unusual venue for the valet parking.

Inside the club, I shifted my bum on the same bucket seat I’d sat in the night before. The one Zara had given me my first blowjob in. The wide window to the showroom was in blackness, and alone in the small room, all I could hear was the sound of my breathing and the friction of the skin on my palms as I rubbed my hands together.

My mind was in overdrive. She’d given nothing away about the theme of her show on the way here, other than she wouldn’t be whipping herself into a frenzy. But the look the red-haired girl at reception had given me made me nervous. More nervous than last night. She’d studied me like I was prey—prey who’d been hunted, captured and was about to be devoured.

Suddenly the curtains opened and the lights in the room came on. As opposed to the stark whiteness of the flagellating show, now the lighting was a subdued scarlet. Dark shadows stretched over the floor and against the wall opposite.

My attention, however, didn’t linger on the aesthetics of the hues, because standing in the middle of the room, wearing black leather hot-pants, a blood-red corset and the same thigh-length boots she’d travelled to work in, was Zara.

Her ponytail swung as she turned to face me. She raised her left hand, pressed a kiss to her palm and blew it my way.

Fuck, my cock was bloating by the second. I couldn’t deny she was bloody gorgeous. Like no woman I’d seen before, not least because she had the sole of her right foot pressed onto a man’s back. The heel was creating quite a dent in his flesh, visible even from where I sat. It must be painful.

He was on the floor, on hands and knees, head hanging down, black hood over his face. He was naked, and I could see that his cock was turgid and straining towards his belly.

The guy was big—his muscles had that over-worked, pumped quality to them—and his olive-skinned back was thick and wide. I noticed a trail of dark hairs in the cleft of his arse. The same coating covered his thighs, calves and forearms.

It was then I spotted what Zara had in her other hand. A whip. But not a long, cowboy-style one, it was short and had several strands, more like a flogger, I supposed. Damn, she’d said she wasn’t going to…

She cracked it down on her leg, the one hoisted up. I flinched at the sharp snapping sound of leather on leather. So did the man. His cock bobbed.

Zara’s lips tightened, giving her face a stern, determined, don’t-fuck-with-me look. She removed her foot and walked around the form on the floor, studying him like one would eye something they were thinking of purchasing.

Her long legs were elegant and slim, the boots as sexy as I’d ever seen a pair of footwear. A sudden image of her thighs wrapped around my hips, while she was wearing those boots, besieged me. The material would be cool, sort of slippery but maybe not once it was laced with sweat. As I pumped into her they’d cling to my skin, tug, squeak. Maybe the sharp silver heels would catch my buttocks, prod me, urge me on.

God, I was at full hardness now. The same as the man on the floor. It wasn’t comfortable in jeans.

His physical form was twice that of Zara’s frame, yet he was cowering down, unmoving, his body tense as though he was unsure of what she would do to him next.

She traced the strands of the flogger down his back.

He trembled.

A tingle ran over my spine.

With a sudden flick of her wrist, the strands whipped his right buttock. He made no sound, but the forward flinch of his entire body told me it had hurt.

Damn it, my own buttock smarted and I clenched my arse cheeks, raising them slightly off the chair.

Why would he let her hit him like that?

I leant forward, spying a drop of pre-cum on the end of his cock. It hadn’t been there before. Fuck, my prick was so bloody hard, straining against the tight denim of my jeans. The tingle in my spine and the heat in my buttocks were racing to my dick, enlarging it, engorging it.

Why the hell was I turned on by this crazy shit?

Zara moved, so her back was to me, and walked over to a silver trolley heavy with implements I had no definite names for. The hot-pants were so tight, so short they travelled up the gulley of her crotch and exposed the entire bottom third of her bum cheeks. Her inner thighs didn’t touch—even right up to her cunt her legs were a half inch apart.

I clenched my fists, blew out a long, slow breath. The criss-crossed lace of the corset hung down a few inches, swaying like a short tail, matching the swish of her sleek hair.

She spun, looked directly at me and held up a long, black, tapered dildo, the end shiny, as though greased. For a moment she didn’t move, just stared at me, quizzically, as if curious to see my reaction.

I kept my face neutral, my lips pressed together and chin tilted. I couldn’t deny the thought of watching her use a dildo on herself didn’t turn me on. It did, a lot. Especially when I was sitting in here, in safety, and nothing was required of me but to watch and enjoy. Feast on her spectacle and see how she made herself come. Maybe it would give me some tips for the future—if I decided to fuck her, that was.

She tilted one side of her mouth, as though she’d read my thoughts. But of course she hadn’t. How could she?

Her attention left me and she wandered over to her plaything. With slow, teasing strokes, she swept the flogger down his back several times. He was shaking slightly, his right buttock now burnt red from the swipe she’d given him.

Suddenly she treated the left buttock to the same hard whack. Again I jumped—it seemed as though I was rushing to imagine the sensation, the skin on my bum tingling and warm.

His head snapped up, and he drew one hand, though pressed onto the floor, into a fist.

That had hurt. Zara had put all her strength into the blow, and with what, about nine, ten, tails to strike his flesh, it was a lot of strips of agony to cope with.

But now she was squatting behind him, smoothing a palm over the blushed buttocks. Caressing sweeps of her hand rubbing away the pain. He shoved backwards onto her touch and hung his head low. She manoeuvred him slightly so his arse was angled directly towards my window.

I nibbled my bottom lip, tried to create a little more space for my cock by shifting the crotch of my jeans.

Zara handled this big brute like he was an object, a slave, something to toy with.

Why was he allowing it?

Getting paid, I supposed. To be in the show. No wonder he wore a hood; he must be mortified that a slip of a girl could beat him and keep him on his hands and knees.

I let out a shaky breath. Wondered why the thought of being in his position made my stomach clench and my bollocks retract. It wasn’t like I would ever be kneeling before her, bare-arsed and submissive.

I shoved my hand through my hair; my brow was a little sweaty. When would Zara get those hot-pants off and put the dildo to good use? Would she make her victim pleasure her?

A glut of something scarily like jealousy filled my stomach. I didn’t want this big, hooded man to touch her. Okay, so she wasn’t mine, but still. This thing, whatever it was, was something we were doing together. She’d asked me to be exclusive to her for a month—surely it worked both ways.

I rubbed my hand down my cheek, stubble scratching my palm. My breath caught in my throat, and if my arse cheeks had been clenched before, now they were tight enough to crush a beer can.

Fucking hell.

Because the dildo, it seemed, wasn’t for Zara’s pussy, it was for Hooded Man’s arse.

I hadn’t seen that coming.

Zara was moving the black tip around the outside of his puckered hole. I was sure I had the best view in the house, if that’s what you could call seeing another bloke’s arsehole buggered—not really my thing.

The first inch of the dildo disappeared as she stretched him open and then she began to move it in and out. I could make out every expansion and contraction, see his balls quivering, his body tensing.

Oh, God, my bollocks were boiling and my arsehole had clamped tighter. Zara was sliding the long dildo—or was it a butt plug?—almost out and then back in a little further each time. Her fingers, with long red nails, held it firm and steady, and her other hand, still soothing his buttock, stretched the curve of skin to improve her and my view of the penetration.

I stared at the scene. His head was still hanging down. I couldn’t make out his cock now but every muscle in his body appeared tense, his ribs expanding and deflating as he took short, sharp breaths.

Zara was fucking him with the toy, going so deep now it practically disappeared from view on each slide inwards. He was rocking forwards and backwards, his rhythm matching hers, clearly enjoying being touched deep inside.

I blinked, several times, my eyeballs dry. I’d been staring wide-eyed. What must be going through his mind, allowing a woman into his arse like that? He was obviously comfortable with it, though—more than comfortable, he was having a great time.