Flora Dain - Chase

His eyes narrow as he steps closer. ‘Freaky Friday, indeed. Now you can tell me just what the hell you think you’re playing at dressed up like that.’ His eyes fill with heat.

I shiver, part playful, part scared, as he slowly lifts one of my pigtails and runs it through his fingers, letting the tight braid glide over his hand. His eyes stay locked on mine.

‘I was at work . Seriously, Darnley, I’d no idea I’d see you today.’

‘And that makes it OK, does it?’ He arches an eyebrow but his voice lowers a notch, making me shiver.

I lower my eyelids, thrilled at where we’re going but determined to hold my ground. Down below my belly contorts in an agony of arousal. At this rate I’ll come where I stand . ‘It’s for work. We all do it. Anyway, I’m not exactly slutty schoolgirl …’ I tail off at the sudden gleam in his eyes.

‘That’s for me to say. How many people saw you today?’

I stare at him, confused. ‘Hardly anybody. It’s just for work, Darnley. I’d no idea you were going to walk in and play Die Hard in my drama class.’

He flicks my pigtail with one finger and then seizes the other and pulls me towards him. ‘I know a bad girl when I see one. And I also know when she’s digging a hole for herself. How many, Ella?’

He’s grinning now but watchful, poised for some kill. I shiver as he draws me into his arms and his hand runs down my side to my tense, tightly clad backside. I haven’t worn pedal-pushers in a while … He squeezes gently as he presses against me and now I know instantly from the hard, jutting column of power that burns up against my belly that he’s suffered as much as I have while we’ve been apart, maybe even more.

And I sure as hell know what he needs now.

Now I know where we’re going I hardly care how we get there. What’s more, I can take all the time I like over my journey. I smile up at him through my lashes and go for broke. ‘No idea. Let’s say … about a hundred?’

If I’d said a thousand he couldn’t look more pleased. He masks it quickly, stern now as he looks me over, assessing all the possibilities of my silly, kooky outfit and the fake innocence in my eyes, growing wider now in real alarm.

He doesn’t play at this. And as he senses my hesitation his eyes gleam with a new awareness.

Playtime just got serious.

I try for a quick distraction. ‘So it’s really bad, this stalker thing?’

His eyes flicker. ‘Her family think so. Her father’s got business rivals here – and something of a reputation. She’s OK in Washington but coming to Boston stretched her team a bit. And anyway, you’re stalling.’ His expression hardens. ‘Don’t think I hadn’t noticed. Come here.’

I flow into his arms like wilful honey. For a long minute we fuse together, our mouths fully engaged, our hearts beating as one, barely millimetres of flesh between them as our bodies re-acquaint.

Mine, pulsing steadily, already glowing lower down, maps his hard, jutting landscape with a deep, belly-warming thrill. His, stronger, leaner, more powerful, tests my softness and my warmth with hot, probing flexes of muscle and sinew, his hands easing over the curves of my lower back and along my sides, lingering on my hills, easing deep into my valleys while his swelling erection thickens between us – our connection and our divider.

‘I’ve missed you so much.’ My soft whisper fills the space between our lips when he finally eases away, the glimmer in his eyes warning our separation will be brief.

‘Me too. You think this weekend thing will work? It drives me crazy thinking of you out there in the city without me. All week. ’

He steps away, his hands still gripping my shoulders, his thumbs moving gently on my skin. ‘And now look.’ He shakes his head slowly, his mouth twitching faintly at the corners. ‘See what you get up to when I’m not around? You just can’t be trusted, can you?’

I grin, alarm and lust blending into a flare of excitement. ‘ Trusted? To do what?’

He’s pulling me towards the bed now, his grip suddenly painful, his fingers closed on my wrist like a vice. ‘Not to dress like a tramp. Slutty schoolgirl? Without my express permission? Disgraceful.’

He sits down suddenly, his grip still like iron, and pushes me away to arm’s length, still holding me fast. ‘You’re going to undo the top button of your pedal-pushers and the first inch or so of your zip and then you’re going to put that eager, wicked little hand right in there and you’re going to feel yourself. Now. ’

In a panic I scrabble with my left hand and edge my zip down a little way, keeping my eyes on his as I force my fingers down into the skin-tight split cutting into my groin where these damn pedal-pushers have been causing me grief all day as they pressed hard on my private places, making me ache every time my thoughts strayed anywhere near Darnley.

He watches in silence, his eyes locked on mine, waiting for the tell-tale flicker in my face that tells him his command is being rigorously obeyed.

‘Keep feeling. I want to see that wicked little fingertip working that greedy, needy clit. And if you dare to come –’ his voice lowers to a predatory growl ‘– the spanking you’re about to get will become even longer and a lot harder.’

‘Like something else I could mention?’ I arch my neck as he lowers my zip a fraction further, his fingers lingering on my navel as he does it, skimming the edge of my slim, straining wrist where my hand is wedged into my crotch and my gently working finger is already edging me ever closer to my doom.

All at once his fingers skim my wrist and clamp around my slim bones, his grip so fierce I look down at him in alarm.

‘Don’t stop.’ He sounds husky, and now I see his eyes are fixed on my wristbone and the places where it disappears easily into his circling, vice-like thumb-to-finger circlet.

What now? What tiny facet of my flexing, delicate wrist has caught his attention? It’s like he’s transfixed, his chest barely moving. Has he forgotten to breathe?

I ruffle his hair with one hand and stoop to kiss it, my lips barely touching its mass of springy, fresh-washed chestnut, gilt-tipped now in the low sunlight slanting in from the dying sunset that bathes the vista outside his vast windows in a wash of gold.

‘Darnley?’

He looks up slowly, his eyes dark with purpose and the prospect of hidden, complex pleasures. ‘Nearly there?’

I shudder as his sudden question sparks a violent jolt of arousal from my swollen, fiery bud, thudding with building excitement as my finger obediently torments it towards climax.

‘Good,’ he says, softly. ‘Now take your hand away and get over my knee, you naughty girl. Dressing like a tramp and feeling yourself? You think that kind of behaviour goes unpunished for long round here?’

I stare at him as flames flicker through me, well aware that in seconds he’s going to find I’m shamefully aroused. I may even show.

His eyes flash. ‘ Well? ’

Startled, I forget my moistening shame for a second and jerk back into play. ‘Yes, sir,’ I jabber. ‘Er, no, sir.’

He arches an eyebrow, his query cynical. ‘Well? Which? It goes unpunished or not?’

My breathing’s faster now, my cheeks filling with colour as my excitement builds. ‘It goes unpunished. I mean it goes punished. Dammit , Darnley, just do it already.’

I collapse over his knee, laughing now, but confused. Everywhere down inside my pedal-pushers glows in a lake of flame as my tormented bud presses into the tight fabric. I curve low, the lacy line of my thong an extra torment and painfully tight as I bend over. At the same moment he forces my thighs apart and chuckles softly as he discovers my shame.