Justine Elyot - Fast And Loose

‘I’m evil,’ he agreed, ‘and I’m relentless. And I want to keep you coming until you can’t see or move any more. But not until you tell me your little secret.’

‘This isn’t fair,’ I said.

‘I know,’ he said, and he kissed me hard, flicking the tip of his tongue over mine, pushing it down as if to show me he would do the same to my resistance.

‘Don’t make me,’ I said, reaching down for the bulge in his trousers, in the hope that I might be able to distract him. ‘I want this.’

He batted my hand away and held my wrist tight.

God, it was turning me on even more. I didn’t remember him being this masterful the first time. Then again, we were both much drunker on that occasion.

‘You’ll get it,’ he promised. He kissed my neck, sucking on it, but not hard enough to leave a mark. Just enough to make me want to howl with need. ‘As much of it as you can handle. When you’ve told me what I want to know.’

He flexed his hips, pushing his hard mound into the junction of my spread legs so that my clit tingled madly.

‘Please!’ I said, having to contend with his tongue on my nipples now, its tip probing past the fishnet. He was winning. I wasn’t going to be able to last much longer.

‘You know what you have to do,’ he said. He rotated his hips, achingly slowly, then withdrew a fraction so that my clit was left to throb untended.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, it’s a blogger whose blog has disappeared. I want to find out what’s happened to her, OK?’

He grinned roguishly and kissed the tip of my nose.

‘There, you see. Not so difficult, was it? Now you’re going to show me everything you’ve got on this blogger…’

I clenched my fists and beat them on the duvet, my teeth gritted with frustration.

‘…but don’t worry. You’re going to get what you’ve been begging for first. Painkillers?’

‘In the drawer…top drawer…there’s a bottle of water on the side.’

He got the necessaries and gave them to me to take. He’d also managed to find a pack of condoms, and he shed his boots and trousers while I downed a brace of Nurofen, getting himself rubbered up in double-quick time.

‘Right,’ he said, once I’d put down the water bottle. ‘What’s the best position for getting fucked with a sprained ankle, Foxy? Any ideas?’

I scooted back and put a pillow under the offending joint.

‘This is probably the easiest,’ I said, eating him up with my eyes. Long legs, long arms, long…everything.

He put one knee on the edge of the mattress, striking a manly pose with his chest out and shoulders back.

‘Are you ready for it?’ he said, thrusting his hips forward.

‘I think so.’

He placed himself on his knees between my thighs and fixed his lips to my ear.

‘I bet you are,’ he whispered. One finger descended on the lace strip that covered my pussy and began to stroke it, from bottom to top, slowly. His fingernail tickled my fattening clit. The material was soaked already. Surely it couldn’t take much more.

I knew I couldn’t. I threw back my head and whimpered.

Harder, please .

But I didn’t say it. I didn’t want to give orders. I wanted him to be in charge.

The next thing I felt, through my delirious haze, was something soft and wet, lapping at the sodden fabric. He pushed his tongue into every crevice, getting the lace barrier wetter and wetter, taking it all into his mouth in a bunch then releasing it to tease me some more. I was beginning to hate these knickers. But I was pretty sure he didn’t feel the same way.

‘All right,’ he said at last, hoarse but determined. ‘Tell me if it hurts, OK?’

I caught a breath and stared at him. But he meant my ankle.

He didn’t even take the knickers off to fuck me.

He pushed the gusset aside and slid his cock inside, fast and smooth, and exactly the way I needed it. My unsprained ankle found its way to his shoulder and I lay in a slightly twisted position, my bottom half off the bed, giving him the best angle of penetration I possibly could.

He used that angle to the fullest, thrusting hard, using his fingers to work at my nipples or my clit whenever he wanted to see my face change. He watched me all the way through, so intently that I shut my eyes in the end. I gave myself up to the feeling of helpless ravishment. I was his to take, and he took me.

I don’t know if my ankle hurt or not. I only knew that furtive, needy creep towards climax, letting him build it inside me, helping him stoke my fire with little movements and silent hints. He read me perfectly. He knew what turned me on.

I’d been wrong about him.

When I was so close there was no chance of turning back, I opened my eyes for a peek at him. His sweat-sheened determination helped me over the edge. His utter focus on what he was doing to me would stay with me, helping me through the dark and lonely nights to come.

I fell helplessly into his ownership. That was how it felt, to come with him inside me. Like being owned and known in a way I could never take back.

‘That’s it, that’s it,’ he whispered with a ferocity matched by his thrusts. ‘Got you now.’

Then he came too, his face at once so wild and so vulnerable that it pierced my heart.

He stayed inside me for a while and we just held on to each other, waiting for our bodies to stop falling and our heads to clear.

‘Mm,’ he said, his eyes dazed and half-closed, as he pulled out and flopped beside me. ‘That hit the spot.’ He kissed my ear. ‘How’s your ankle?’

‘Ankle? Oh, yeah.’ I was suddenly aware again of the pain, though it was muted now, and seemed far away.

He was amused. ‘You’d forgotten about it?’

‘I think I had. They should prescribe you on the National Health.’

He smiled, running his hand over my fishnetted curves again.

‘You too,’ he said. ‘Take three times daily after meals.’

‘I think I could handle that,’ I said.

He sat up and put his hand around my ankle.

‘It needs bandaging,’ he said. ‘Have you got anything?’

‘Not bandages per se,’ I said. ‘A dressing-gown cord is as close as it gets.’

‘That’d do.’

The robe was hanging on the door. He took the satin belt from its loops and wrapped it slowly and carefully around the swollen area, down to my heel.

I shut my eyes and imagined he was tying me up for real, about to hobble me or bind me to the bedpost. He would keep me spreadeagled here, ready for sex whenever he felt the urge.

‘Is that all right?’ he asked. ‘Too tight?’

‘A little tighter would be fine,’ I said.

I opened my eyes to watch him pull it taut and let out a shuddering breath, excited again, despite my post-coital limpness.

‘Did that hurt?’ he asked, all concern.

‘No,’ I said unevenly. ‘’Sfine.’

One side of his mouth twitched up, but his brow was furrowed, as if trying to solve me like a riddle.

‘Good,’ he said.

I knew I was blushing. I felt I’d given something away.

‘Right, well, I’m going to get you a bag of frozen peas or something, to put against it, and then you’re going to turn on your computer and tell me all about this blogger of yours.’

Oh, bugger! He was supposed to have forgotten about that. The mind-blowing sex had failed to blow enough of his mind.

He helped me up from the bed, supported me over to my desk and sat me in the chair. My knickers felt cold and slimy and the fuzzy upholstery of the cushion prickled my sensitive skin. My hold-ups were clinging damply to my legs and I didn’t dare turn my head far enough to catch my reflection in the dressing-table mirror.

He dealt with the condom and wrapped himself in my beltless robe, then disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.