The Mammoth Book of Erotica Presents The Best of Saskia Walker (3 page)

Glancing back, she saw that his train was approaching. He never took his eyes off her. She craned her neck when her view was obscured by the moving carriages. The shift of the crowd into the train made it impossible to pick him out. Then it was gone. The platform was empty. She stared at the place where he had stood until her train pulled in. She moved to the far side of the carriage, where she could stand out her journey, and turned on her heel just in time to see Jack close in behind her.

“Your place it is then.” His eyes glittered with anticipation, with certainty.

Her heart thudded in her chest. Her lips parted, but this time no retort emerged. Between her thighs, a pulse throbbed with need. She closed her mouth, snatching at the overhead handhold for support.

His smile was triumphant.

Later, in her flat, he threw her by rejecting a comfortable, relaxed seat on the sofa. Instead he pulled out a dining chair, indicating that she do the same and sit facing him.

He’d teased her all the way home, innuendo in his every word, keeping her wired. And now, despite the fact they were in her home, he took charge immediately. Not in an aggressive way, but with a relaxed sense of surety that was disarming. She put her wineglass down on the table and took her seat, noting how exposed the setup made her feel.

He lounged back over his chair, one leg folded, his ankle resting on the opposite knee, his hand loosely on the juncture. His looks were rugged but suave. He was dangerously attractive.

She tried to look as relaxed as he appeared, but she was far from it.

“I enjoyed watching you deal with that moron Laybourne at today’s meeting.”

She gave a breathy laugh, releasing some of the tension he had aroused in her. “He’s just an arrogant little prick with very little real knowledge.”

“You’re so right.” He gave a deep and genuine laugh. “He’s jealous of your abilities though, and he’s lusting after your body. The two vying motivations confuse him. Lust for a competitor can screw with a guy’s mind.” He looked at her with deliberation.

Her heart raced. “It can?”

“If he lets it.” His gaze moved over her body, slowly.

“And are you jealous of my skills?” She crossed her legs high on the thigh, crushing the pounding pulse in her clit.

“No, I admire them immensely. I’m not threatened by you.”

Then for a moment silence hung heavy in the atmosphere.

He raised one eyebrow. “I notice you didn’t ask if I lusted after you.”

“I don’t think you came here with the sole purpose of analyzing today’s meeting.”

He tipped his glass at her. “Indeed. And you did let me come home with you.”

She couldn’t deny it. “So I did.”

Silent acknowledgment raced between them.
We are going to fuck
.

He took a sip of his wine, eyeing her as she crossed and uncrossed her legs.

“It’s not easy for you, is it? Blonde, pretty, extraordinarily intelligent.”

Something akin to relief hit her. “No, it isn’t.” She smiled, genuinely appreciating his words. He really had been observing her.

“What do you usually do, when you bring a man home for sex?” He said it as if he was discussing the weather, and glanced around the open-plan living area, as if the furniture could tell tales.

“Oh, fast, dirty sex, nothing prolonged in terms of involvement. I don’t have time.” She pushed her heavy hair back from her face, watching for his response. It was the truth. What would he think of her?

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Really?”

“Perhaps you should make time.”

“Perhaps I should.”
Where was he going with this?

“How many times do you reach orgasm, when you have ‘fast, dirty sex’?”

It felt as if the temperature had risen dramatically. “That’s a rather intimate question.”

“I mean to be intimate with you, Lois.”

He wasn’t kidding. His provocative questioning had her entire skin prickling. “Once, mostly,” she replied eventually.

He nodded. “I’d like to see you come more than once. You deserve better than that.”

If he’d wanted to grab her attention, he’d certainly found the way. Up until that moment she could have turned away, asked him to leave. Not now. Not anymore.

“There’s a determination about you that fascinates me,” he continued. “You stalk after everything. If we were living in a primitive world, you would be a powerful huntress.”

She smiled at the image, loving it. “Very amusing, but what’s your point?”

“My point is that even powerful women can learn by pacing themselves.” He ran one finger around the rim of his wineglass. “You might benefit from restraint.”

Her sex clenched. The nape of her neck felt damp. “You’re suggesting bondage?” She let her gaze wander over his body: bulky with muscle, his expensive clothing barely concealed his obvious strength. Being under him would be quite something.

He shook his head. “No. I’m talking about a different kind of restraint altogether.
Will power
. I enjoy seeing you battle with your energies, using and controlling your power in the workplace. Whether it’s in the boardroom or elsewhere, your desires are only just harnessed. You’re a powerful woman, but it’s as if you’re always on the edge of losing control. And that is such a turn-on.”

Breathing had become difficult. More than that, his words about willpower struck a note with her, and she recognized herself in what he said. She had never thought about it that way, but
yes
. He was right.

He smiled and it was filled with dangerous charm. “I’m enjoying watching you now; you’re racked with sexual tension. I can almost touch it.” He moved his hand, as if he was touching her from where he sat. “Your eyes are dilated, slightly glazed. Your body is restless, your movements self-conscious, jumpy; your skin is flushed. Your nipples are hard.”

She took a gulp of wine. The way he described her was sending her cunt into overdrive.

He loosened his tie. “You’ve been squirming on that seat for the last five minutes. I’d put money on your underwear being very, very damp.”

Her skin raced with sensation, the thrill of his words touching her every inch of skin, inside and out. She wanted to fuck.
Now
. But he was making her sit there and listen, controlling her with his intimate, knowing words.

His glance dropped to her cleavage. She realized her fingers were toying with the button there. She clutched it tight, stilling her hand, and bit her lip.

“Be careful, you’ll draw blood.”

He didn’t miss a thing.

“How wet are you, Lois?”

She squirmed on her chair, desperate for contact, her eyes closing as she replied. “Wet, very wet.” She stifled a whimper.

Silence hung heavy between them again while she looked up at him for his response. He was still as a bird of prey, his chin resting on one hand. A large bulge showed in his expensive Armani pants. She wanted it badly, wanted it inside her where her body was begging to be filled.

He lifted one finger, gesturing at her crotch. “Open your legs, show me.”

Swearing under her breath, she followed his instruction, dragging her short skirt up and over her hips, her eyes never leaving his. As she opened her legs, pivoting out on her stacked heels, his eyes darkened.

“Oh yes, you are wet.” His lips remained apart as he stared at her. She sensed his breathing had grown quicker. “Touch yourself, through your panties,” he instructed.

She rested her hand over her pussy and groaned aloud. Her clit leapt, her hips wriggling into her hand for more.

“Enough.” He smiled. “Stand and take your underwear off.”

Her heart thudded so hard she thought she might crack. She took a deep breath and stood up, rested her thumbs in the lacy waistband and paused.

With one finger, he gestured downward.

She rolled them over her hip bones, growling quietly when she found herself exposed under his gaze. Dropping the panties to the floor, she stepped out of them. Her skirt was wedged around her waist, her pussy exposed. She rested her hands on her hips in an attempt to feel less awkward.

“How delicious. I can see your clit poking out. It’s very swollen, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her feet shuffling, her face on fire.

He gestured at her abandoned panties. “Pick them up and bring them here.”

His instruction hit her like a left hook. He wanted her damp underwear. She steadied herself. Bending to snatch them up, she looked at the floor, counted to five.
He also wanted her to move closer
. Standing, barely in touch with her equilibrium, she swayed on her heels. When she stepped forward, she had the panties clutched against her chest.

He gestured with his hand.

She held them out.

He leaned forward, took the wispy garment. Slowly, he opened the crotch out, holding it up to the light. “Poor Lois, you were finding this hard, weren’t you?” A damp patch reminiscent of a Rorschach inkblot spanned the fabric. He breathed in appreciatively, his eyelids lowering. “Delicious.”

A combination of embarrassment and nagging lust burned her up inside. Her juices were now marking the insides of her thighs. “Do you get off on making women hot,” she blurted, “and then leaving them hanging?”

He rested the panties on the table, next to his wine glass, and put his hand over the bulge in his pants. “I’m a slave to this as much as you are.”

“Hardly.” He was so controlled. She felt as if she was about to lose it and beg.
Was that what he wanted her to do?

He moved his hand, unzipping his pants and letting his cock spring free. Moisture dribbled from its tip. With one hand, he rode it up and down, slowly and deliberately, watching her reaction. It was long and thick, a prize specimen, and it was as ready for action as she was. When she glanced back up at his face, she saw it all; saw a mirror of where she was at, wrestling with her inner desires, barely controlling them.

“Hard, isn’t it?” His mouth moved in an ironic smile.

“Please. Jack, please?” Her hand had found its way into her pussy.

He watched her hand moving. “What is it that you want?”

“That.” She nodded down at his cock, her hand latched over her clit, pressing and squeezing. “Inside me.”

“Show me how much you want it.”

She stared at him, panting with need, then dropped to a crouch, moving in between his knees to kneel at his feet. She opened her shirt, pulled the cups of her bra down so that her tits pushed out. She plucked at her rigid nipples. “I want it so much,” she whispered, looking up at him pleadingly. She licked his cock from where his fist was braced around its base up to the tip and over.

His eyes gleamed with pleasure, his lips parted.

She took the swollen head into her mouth, riding it against the roof of her mouth. When he groaned, she took him deeper, rising and falling, sucking him hard. His hand loosened, his balls rode high. She drew back.

He looked down at her, his eyes glazed. Still he made no move. Her hips swung behind her, her arse in the air, her cunt begging to be filled. “Please, please fuck me. Jack, I’m dying for you to fuck me.”

It was as if she’d tripped a switch. Undoing his belt, he stood up, shoving his pants and jockeys to his ankles. He hauled her to her feet, kissed her fiercely, his tongue claiming her lips, her mouth. Between them, one hand moved on his cock, the other stroked her pussy, squeezing it in his hand, sending her clit wild. She whimpered, entirely locked to his actions.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her round, bending her over the dining table, pressing her down onto it, his hands roaming over her exposed buttocks as if, suddenly, he couldn’t get enough of it. He kneaded her flesh, hauling her buttocks apart, his cock nudging into her swollen pussy. He grunted with primitive pleasure when her hungry cunt quickly gave way, sucking him in. He bent over her, sliding in, filling her to the hilt.

“Oh, yes.” She shuddered with sensation, her hands clawing for the far edge of the table.

“Good?” he murmured against her back. When she moaned agreement, he thrust again, crushing her cervix, circling his hips as if he was testing her for ripeness. “You’re so swollen, so sensitive; your cunt is like a hot fist on my cock.”

He wasn’t kidding
. She was already close to coming.

He thrust hard. “Wasn’t that worth waiting for?”

She nodded again, awash with sensation, her thighs spreading, her belly flat to the table.

“Ready to be well and truly fucked?”

She opened her mouth to retort, to say she thought she was being fucked already, then she noticed the extent of the tension at her back, like a loaded gun.
He hasn’t even started
. She bit her lip, braced her arms, and nodded, her head hanging down.

With the precision of a well-oiled machine, he started to move, grinding into her, holding her hips as he drove his cock in and out. She pressed back, meeting each thrust with a low cry, pleasure spilling from her core. He filled her completely. She felt wild, yet tethered. She came fast and hot, her cunt in spasm.

“Nice one; feels good, Lois,” he panted. “Ready for more?” He stroked her hair, but he didn’t break his stride.

She was his, a rag doll to his will, her body riding the table as he fucked her. Her inner thighs were slick with juices. Her feet were off the floor, heels in the air. Her tits and clit were crushed onto the table, fast growing painful with the push and shove on the hard surface.

And then he thrust harder, swearing when he felt the hot clutch of her body on his. His fists grabbed at her buttocks, manhandling her back against his hips, anchoring her on his cock. He was so deep, wedged against her cervix; she felt his cock grow larger still. It lurched, spurting. She wriggled and flexed, on the verge of coming again. He squeezed her buttocks, as if milking himself off with her body. Acute sensation roared through her, spiraling out until every part of her was vibrating. She gave a long, low moan, her body convulsing.

Against her back, Jack breathed hard. She put her hand over his where it rested on her hip, gratitude welling inside her. She’d never had it this hot before, she’d never taken the time.