Trading Tides (7 page)

With a knowing smile, Paul brushed his fingers over my palm, along the curved line, and then clicked the chain into the metal ring on my cuff. That little click travelled through my entire body, forced me to rise to my toes to dispel the rush of excitement.

"There's my good girl," he whispered hoarsely as the length of the fine chain disappeared into his pocket again. A thin line of glittering metal stretched between us, and I stared at it, fascinated, scared, and utterly transfixed. I licked my lips, tried to breathe more deeply than the audible shallow gasps I'd been capable of for the last few minutes, but it was like I'd forgotten how.
 

He stared me down, until I felt a soft pulsing in my clit—a ghost orgasm, a promise, my body's only chance for release.

"Your eyes are dilating."

I didn't know what to say, and then his hand disappeared into his pocket for a third time.
 

"Do you trust me, Iris?"

"Of course I do," I whispered without a second's thought. He smiled crookedly and I looked at the ground between us. The chain glittered a little out of focus and I raised my eyes again. "I trust you, Sir."

I held his gaze until I felt a little tug at my cuffed wrist.
 

"Turn around, pet."

I did. The muddy, brackish water of the Thames passed before my eyes until I stood still again, facing the line of trees and the road behind it; the chain jingled as he gave me more leeway.
 

I felt him step closer behind me; it was the warmth of his body that radiated against my back. I took a deep breath and then he lowered something over my eyes, a piece of fabric that he tied in the back of my head. I sucked a sharp breath between my teeth when my vision went black, when stray hair caught in the knot; I swayed on the spot, then pressed myself against him.

"Hush," he breathed, smoothing his hand down my arm. "I'm here. Nothing can happen to you. Remember what you said?"

"I trust you."

"Yes, you do."

He turned me again, just a few degrees, then he stepped to my side and started to walk. The chain jingled again, pulled taut and tugged at my wrist—and so I followed. One tentative step before the next.

"What if..." I started. Silence stretched and so I went on, "What if someone sees?"

"Let them see." I listened to his strong steps on the concrete, to the gentle flow of the river and the caw of the birds. "There's nobody here. Trust me."

"I trust you, Sir."

With time, I found it easier to walk, to put one foot before the other without knowing where I placed them. His steady walk beside me helped, and so did the sound of his breath. He kept talking to me, describing exactly what he saw—the trees, still bare but bursting with the desire to show their spring splendor.
 

He made me stop after a while, so that he could pull down a branch. He brought my fingers to touch the hard little nubs that would turn into bright blossoms within a few weeks. They were cold and smooth against the rougher bark.

"Can you hear the river?" he asked. I nodded, but held my breath anyway, just for a few steps.

"Describe what you hear."

I licked my lips, hesitating as I groped for words in the darkness under my blindfold.

"I hear... a rushing sound, like white noise," I whispered. My feet stilled when he stopped moving; his hand in the small of my back sent a violent shiver through my body. "I think I can hear little waves lap up against the embankment. Really softly."

"Good. Good, what else?"

"There's the wind. And... and the street over there. I hear birds and... the city. Like a thrumming, like drums, like..." He pulled me closer, threaded his fingers through my hair, and I leaned my cheek against his chest. "Your heartbeat. Air in your lungs."

He tightened his fingers in my hair, pulled my face back. I moaned against the sting, and he stifled the sound when his lips descended on mine. He walked me backwards, I don't know how far. We were kissing, floating, and I let him lead.

Every sensation felt intensified, magnified under my blindfold. I forgot where we were, forgot to be conscious of my body, how to position it, how to act, rubbed against him without fear. Then he pushed something hard between my legs and I cried out in surprise. I thought it had to be the leather strap, when he pushed harder and I ground against it, back and forth through the fabric of my trousers.
 

"Paul..." I whimpered. The quality of sound was a little different here, but I noticed it more when he spoke again.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Sir. I trust you."

"Kneel for me."

I hesitated, moved my head as though I could have looked around, but he'd tied the blindfold well. My heart rate rocketed; still I nodded. A shiver went through me and I bent my knees, then swayed and stood straight again. I held my breath.

"Kneel, baby girl," he repeated; the chain jangled between us. "Right here."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I was scared, but just as I was about to say it, I knew I could conquer it. I had to—because Paul had come for me, all the way, just for me.
 

Blindly, I reached my arms out for balance and sank to my knees. The moist concrete dug against my skin. I was breathing hard with nerves, and clutched at his trousers.

"There you go. That's my girl." He smoothed his hand over my hair, and I sighed as he sent a wave of calm down through my spine. "What do you hear now?"

I held my breath; the river was quieter, and I was just about to say that when I heard the sound of his zipper. I felt faint, hopelessly, deliriously dizzy. A sound of longing crossed my lips; he made a fist in my hair.

"Your... your trousers, Sir."

I caught a whiff of his scent—sweat and salt—and then his cock was on my face, rubbing over my cheeks and lips, over the blindfold and down to my chin.

"Open your mouth now. Stick out your tongue."

I managed to breathe once, and then he filled my mouth so completely, I just clung to his legs, gasping, taking him, trying to open myself wide, to be a vessel, an opening, just for him.

He determined the pace and the speed, pushed into my mouth fast and bold. His fingers curled against the back of my neck, pulled me off him by my hair, only to plunge back into me. The head of his cock ran along the roof of my mouth, over my soft palate and to the entrance of my throat. I choked and he pushed harder.
 

I couldn't feel the concrete anymore, nor hear the river lap against the embankment.

VII

His cock squirmed in my mouth, wriggling in anticipation of release, when he suddenly pulled the blindfold off my face. Light streamed against my retinas, and I blinked, pressed my eyes shut in surprise.

"Look at me." His voice was deep now, hoarse and strained like distant thunder.

He clamped his fingers around my ears just as I opened my eyes again. My field of vision was filled with his sweater, but just at the edge, all the way up, high above me, there was his face. His eyes connected with mine, I blinked for a sharper image and then it was over: he groaned and I tasted the first drop of his come in the back of my throat. I could feel it pumping through the length of his cock, coating my soft palate, and then my tongue as he started to pull out, patting my cheek.

One of his hands went to the wall behind me to steady himself, and I watched him lean over, catch his breath. It was only then that I noticed our surroundings. I could no longer see the river, it was darker here, in a corner under a bridge and the heavy concrete wall Paul was leaning against stood between us and the flow of brackish water.

I felt the stone under my knees again, the air burning in my lungs as I panted for oxygen. His cock was still out, softened in the cool air and when he reached for it, I touched his wrist.

"May I?"

He nodded, took his hand away and watched me. There was a new glimmer of interest in his tired eyes and I smirked, trying to curb my panting breath as I touched the soft skin. It was beautiful, and seized with a sudden impulse, I leaned in, pressed his cock against my cheek, my lips. There was still a bit of come on its head, and gently, I licked him clean. He felt so different now, softer, sweeter. I clung to the moment, before I put it back into his briefs and closed his zip.

"Thank you, baby girl," he whispered, fingers curling in my hair. "Can you get up by yourself?"

I nodded, but when I swayed a little, he hefted me up under my shoulders and lifted me to my feet. I leaned against him, because he let me; I breathed him in.
 

I could still taste him in the back of my throat, under my tongue. It was sticky and bitter, not a pleasant taste altogether, but that didn't matter. He was in my mouth, literally, and after over a month of longing, of aching for him, I wanted every part. I wanted to keep tasting, feeling, seeing, hearing him for as long and as intensely as I could.

"Are you okay?" he asked, nose rubbing against my ear.

I managed a nod, then slowly whispered "Yes, Sir," against his neck while he threaded his fingers through my hair. I wanted to purr and curl up on his lap for the next few hours.

My body felt gelatinous and soft already, knees weak as I leaned against him for support, for warmth. It felt good, the kind of feeling you can never recreate on the phone or with your hands alone, and he had hardly even touched me yet.

When he pushed me a few inches away to look at me, a smile crossed his features. He reached for my handbag again and I didn't question it when he pilfered through it. There wasn't much in there, my wallet, keys, a cotton bag for the groceries I was planning on buying after work. But he unearthed an old pack of handkerchiefs from some side pocket and held it up, smiling. I raked my fingers through my hair—all in knots and disarray, and he wet one of the handkerchiefs on his tongue. Cradling my head, he started to run the soft paper along my cheek and under my eyes. It came back with black and beige smudges; I bit my lip in embarrassment.

"You made me messy..." I whispered, grinning.

He didn't answer, just clicked his tongue and smirked with something like pride, while he tried his best on the other side of my face as well. I could watch him, that focused, caring expression on his face, the way the light caught in his eyes. They were like the sea, calm and soft, or rough and stormy, depending on the climate. He licked his lip in concentration and finally pulled back, apparently content with his achievement.

"We'll have to slip you into the bathroom one more time before you head back to work," he chuckled, then took my hand and squeezed it. "It's a pity. You look so nice and fucked now."

I shivered, and leaned against his side as we started to go back, out from under the bridge and back into the cold and cloudy afternoon.
 

***

I squeezed his hand and he looked over at me, raising his brows.

"I could take the afternoon off. I mean..." I licked my lips and inadvertently, my eyes fell on the leather strap that stuck out of his pocket now. The sight of the leather still made me tremble, and it got worse while I waited for him to help me out, to fill the blank. All he did was smile though, that sweet, dangerous smile. He, too, looked down at himself, as though it was only my glance that drew his attention to an almost forgotten implement.

"That's my girl," he whispered against the wind, then plucked the strap from his pocket. He curled his fingers around the handle slowly, suggestively, until something deep inside me contracted and ached. He smiled; he knew.
 

"Eager. I like you eager."

Gently, he brought the leather to my face again, ran it down my cheek. The skin spanned there, dry after the tears that had leaked into the blindfold, after his scrubbing. I shivered.

"Were you hoping I'd use this on you?"

My mouth opened; I stared for a long second, then I looked down and nodded. "Yes, Sir."

More firmly this time, he placed the strap under my chin and directed my gaze back up to his face. My clit tingled distractingly.

"Out here?"

I looked around as though to consider his question, then jumped when a slap came down on my cheek with a crack, and he directed my gaze back to his face once more. I swallowed, resisted the desire to reach up to my cheek and run my fingers over the aching patch of skin. I wanted him so much in that moment, my knees wavered, even my mouth watered, as though there just wasn't any way to direct more liquid between my legs and it had to go somewhere.

"I..." Licking my lips again, I played for time, for some kind of answer that would make sense. Of course I had been horrified at the idea of doing anything out here, where anyone might have seen, but now that concern had squeezed itself somewhere into the back of my mind, pushed away by the mountainous force of desire.

"I... I don't know, Sir." It wasn't enough, and I tried again. "I trust you."

I was sure, for a few heartbeats, that I had failed somehow, that it had been a cowardly answer, but then a smile rose on his features and he patted my cheek gently. The leather made hardly a sound as it connected with my skin this time, and I didn't feel any need to look around, to make sure we were still alone.

"I told you I'd come here to fix you, baby girl. I'm not done fixing you, not even close." I wanted to sink into his arms, legs weak with relief and need. But he held me steady by the shoulder, ran the leather over my lips. "This was just lunch. Special delivery."

I giggled at the expression on his face, the sharp taste of his come that still coated the back of my throat.
 

"Now my sweet, ambitious, intelligent girl has to go back to work, and I'll wait until you're done."

My mouth opened again; I hesitated.

"But that's still a couple of hours, I... are you sure?" I thought of my team assembling in the conference room, waiting for me while I blew them off, and I squirmed guiltily at how much I wanted to do just that. But Paul shook his head. His smile, his eyes were back to looking gentle and calm, and the strap vanished in his pocket so that he could take my hand, and start walking again. The metal jangled between us.