“So there might be a certain latitude. If I do this, you must promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“You will safe-word if you need to, and I will just make love to you, okay?”
She agrees readily.
I lead her to the bed, throw the comforter aside, and sit down as she stands before me in her mask and corset.
She looks sensational.
I grab a pillow and place it beside me. Taking her hand, I tug so that she falls across my lap, her chest on the pillow. I sweep her hair off her face and the mask.
There.
She looks glorious.
Now, to spice this up. “Put your hands behind your back.”
She scrambles to do my bidding and squirms on top of me.
Eager. I like that.
I tie her wrists with my tie. She’s helpless. In my power.
It’s exhilarating.
“You really want this, Anastasia?”
“Yes,” she stresses, clarifying her need.
But I still don’t get it. I thought all this was off the table.
“Why?” I ask as I caress her behind.
“Do I need a reason?”
“No, baby, you don’t. I’m just trying to understand you.”
Be in the moment, Grey.
She wants this. And so do you.
I stroke her ass once more, preparing myself. Preparing her.
Leaning over, I hold her down with my left hand and I smack her once with the other, just at the junction of her fine, fine ass and her thighs.
She moans an incoherent word.
It’s not a safe word.
I smack her again.
“Two. We’ll go with twelve.” I start counting.
I smooth her behind and spank her twice, once on each cheek. And I pull off her lacy panties, trailing them down her thighs, her knees, her calves, and over her Louboutins, where I discard them on the floor.
It’s arousing.
In every way.
Noting she’s no longer wearing the kegel balls, I spank her again, numbering each blow. She groans and writhes across my knees, her eyes shut beneath her mask. Her ass is a lovely shade of pink.
“Twelve,” I whisper when I’m done.
I caress her glowing ass and sink two fingers into her.
She’s wet.
So fucking wet.
So ready.
She moans as I rotate my fingers inside her and she comes, loudly, frantically, around them.
Wow. That’s quick. She’s such a sensual creature.
“That’s right, baby,” I murmur, and I untie her wrists. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. “I’ve not finished with you yet, Anastasia.”
I’m now uncomfortable. I want her.
Badly.
Lowering her so that her knees touch the floor, I kneel behind her. I undo my zipper and yank down my underwear, freeing my eager erection. From my pants pocket, I extract a condom and pull my fingers out of my girl.
She whimpers.
I wrap my cock in latex. “Open your legs.” She complies and I ease into her. “This is going to be quick, baby,” I whisper. I hold her hips and slowly pull out of her, then I slam into her.
She cries out. With joy. With abandon. With ecstasy.
This is what she wants, and I’m only too happy to oblige. I thrust and thrust, and then she’s meeting me. Thrusting back.
Shit.
This is going to be even quicker than I thought. “Ana, no,” I warn. I want to prolong her pleasure. But she’s a greedy girl and she takes all she can. A voracious counterpoint to me.
“Ana, shit.” It’s a strangled cry as I come and it sets her off. She screams as her orgasm rips through her, pulling on me as I sink on to her.
Man, that was good.
I’m spent.
After all the teasing and the anticipation during that meal…this was inevitable. I kiss her shoulder and pull out of her and remove the condom, tossing it into the wastebasket by the bed. That will give my mother’s housekeeper something to think about.
Ana’s still in her mask, panting, smiling. She looks satiated. I kneel over her, resting my forehead on her back as we both find our equilibrium.
“Mmm,” I murmur in satisfaction, and plant a kiss on her flawless back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Steele.”
She hums a contented response from somewhere deep in her throat. I sit back and pull her onto my lap.
“We don’t have long. Come on.” I kiss her hair. She moves off my lap and sits on the bed, beginning to dress as I do up my shirt and redo my bow tie.
Ana gets up and walks over to where I’ve placed her dress. Wearing only her mask, corset and shoes, she embodies sensuality. I knew she was a goddess, but this…She’s beyond all my expectations.
I love her.
I turn away, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and straighten the comforter on my bed.
The uneasy feeling ebbs like a receding tide as I finish and see Ana examining the photographs on my bulletin board. There are many—from all over the world. My parents were fond of a foreign vacation.
“Who’s this?” Ana asks, pointing to an old black-and-white photograph of the crack whore.
“No one of consequence.” I slip on my jacket and straighten my mask. I’d forgotten about that picture. Carrick gave it to me when I was sixteen. I’d tried several times to throw it away, but I could never quite bring myself to dispose of it.
“Son, I have something for you.”
“What?” I’m in Carrick’s study, expecting a dressing down. But for what I don’t know. I hope he hasn’t found out about Mrs. Lincoln.
“You seem calmer, more collected, more yourself these days.”
I nod, hoping that my expression gives nothing away.
“I was going through some old files and I found this.” He hands me a black-and-white photograph of a sad young woman. It’s like a gut punch.
The crack whore.
He studies my reaction. “We were given this at the time of the adoption.”
“Oh,” I manage to say through my closing throat.
“I thought you might want to see it. Do you recognize her?”
“Yes.” I squeeze the word out.
He nods, and I know he has something else to say.
What more does he have?
“I don’t have any information on your biological father. By all accounts he wasn’t part of your mother’s life in any way.”
He’s trying to tell me something…It wasn’t her fucking pimp?
Please tell me it wasn’t him.
“If you want to know anything else…I’m here.”
“That man?” I whisper.
“No. Nothing to do with you,” my dad says, to reassure me.
I close my eyes.
Thank fuck. Thank fuck. Thank fuck.
“Is that all, Dad? Can I go?”
“Of course.” Dad looks troubled, but he nods.
Clutching the photo, I leave his office. And I run. Run. Run. Run…
The crack whore was a sad and pathetic creature. She looks every bit the victim in this old black-and-white. I think it’s a police mug shot but with the numbers cut off. I wonder if things would have ended up differently for her if my parents’ charity had existed then. I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about her with Ana. “Shall I zip you up?” I ask, to change the subject.
“Please,” Ana says, and turns her back to me so I can zip up her dress. “Then why is she on your bulletin board?”