Page 12 of Disgrace

“I won’t be a moment. I have to lock up.” She doesn’t even look up just nods and stares at her cupped hands. Now I happen to fucking love submissive gestures like this, but this is fucking killing me. I slam the door, making her jump. It takes me less than five minutes to pack my duffle bag with enough clothes to last the week. I throw the bag over my shoulder into the back seat when I slide into the front.

“Home?” I check one more time.

“Please.” Her voice is such a sad whisper I want to reach over and pull her into my arms all over again, and I will…soon. “I’m sorry Jason,” she adds. Her eyes shine with moisture, and I have to grip the wheel to prevent myself from tearing her from her seat. She needs to be home…where she feels safe.

“I know.” I rev the engine to a loud roar so I’m not sure she heard me, but she has already retreated in on herself, so it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is getting her to talk to me, and she won’t do that unless she feels safe.

The streets are empty, dark and rightly deserted. I keep casting my eyes her way and notice she has dipped her head and tilted to see the Christmas lights that hang across some of the main London roads. She’s smiling, so I decide to take the long way home, weaving my way down every festively lit street I know. She turns her head to me when she realises what I’m doing, her smile is brighter than a million Christmas lights. No one in their right mind would actually chose to drive around London, deliberately picking longer routes. But it’s Christmas Day, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see a lonesome bushel sweeping down Bond Street.

This year, the most expensive shopping destination in town has large white peacock feathers spanning the width and running the entire length of the road. A canopy of mock diamonds sparkle overhead, a poor cousin to those on display in the Graff or Cartier windows or the ones that still lie flush against Sam’s neck.

We drive slowly along Piccadilly. The arcades on either side tend to go all out with the decorations, and this year is no exception. But the window displays are always worth checking out. I pull up and park outside Harrods, something that would have you clamped and fined within five minutes on any other day. Each window has a fairy tale theme, and the one we are looking at isCinderella. I don’t think they could’ve fit anymore sparkle in that tiny space.

“Beautiful,” I say but I don’t mean the display because that pales in comparison to what I have sitting beside me.

“Cinder-fucking-ella,” she sniffs out and looks over to me because I am silent and clearly waiting for her to clarify. “I can relate to the evil stepmother, but honestly, there is no such thing as Prince Charming.”

I grin and her eyes drop to my lips when I drag my tongue slowly, deliberately along the seam.

“I agree. I personally prefer the big bad wolf. You know exactly what he wants, he can see you better, hear you better and—” I wink when her laugh finishes my dirty train of thought.Yeah I can definitely eat you better.

I pull the car into a space a few houses down from Sam’s place and switch the engine off. She turns to me with a brave face and a tentative smile.

“Thank you, Jason, and I’m—” I don’t hear the rest of whatever excuse and brush off she had prepared. I reach over into the back seat to grab my bag. I open my door, and I take my time stepping around the front of the car. I keep my eyes fixed on her, and she closely watches my face, but I’m giving nothing away. I open her door and wait, smiling to myself at the look of complete surprise painting her face. “Um…” She takes my offered hand, and once the car is locked, I pull her into my arms. My hand threads into her hair, skimming the choker and cupping her head.

“Sam, you’re an intelligent woman. You didn’t really think that was the end, did you?” I raise my brow and keep my smile wide.

“I…Jason…” She stiffens and her brows furrow. She’s working up to making some sort of objection I just don’t care to hear. I cover her mouth with mine. We have plenty of time to talk. Right now, she needs to remember just how good we taste together. She instantly relaxes in my arms. My tongue sweeps across her sweet lips, and she breathes out a light moan that mainlines straight to my cock. I walk her back and press her against the hood of my car, her back curves with the pressure I’m putting on her small frame. Sprawled and pressed together our bodies collide. We lay with heat matching that rising from the engine underneath, zero to full throttle in no time at all. Fuck, she feels so good. I use one hand to protect her head, her thick dark hair falls in a halo pattern, glossy and rich and a sharp contrast to the matte black paintwork of my car. Her dark eyes shine, and although I am pressing her body flush to mine, she is somehow able to make tiny undulations beneath me. The sexiest fucking movements ever. They are driving me insane. I hold her fixed against my mouth. My other hand drifts down her side. I grip around the back of her thigh and pull her leg around my hip. She doesn’t hesitate, her demand for me equals my own for her. Urgent, breathless kisses, swiping her tongue around in a delicious duel with mine, her hands fist and pull me hard against her. We could go right here. I know it. I stand back, leaving her heaving in much needed oxygen. I drag my hand slowly down her body, between her breasts, resting in the centre where I can feel the power of her heartbeat in my palm. Just where I want her.

“Still think you can’t give me what I want?” My voice sounds gravelly and heavy with lust. “Still think this is wrong?”

Her lips spread wide into a wicked smile. “Well, we are in the middle of the street.”

“And fucking outdoors is wrong?” I quip and nudge my straining hard-on against her centre. She laughs out but covers her mouth to hide the sound. I hate when she does that, I love that sound. I pull her hand free.

“Not at all, but curtains are twitching and public fucking isn’t my thing.” I pull her up from the car and push her hair out of her eyes, which are now smiling.

“Good to know. See? Now I know one of your limits.” I pause a moment before I go on. “This was my fault, Sam. I was too eager and I should’ve known better. I do know better. Let me make this right.” I keep my light tone but shift it mid-sentence to soft and sincere. “I know you want this, Sam…as much as I do.” I kiss her lips; I can’t stop myself. “Do you trust me?” As much as I want this, as much as I can’t keep my hands off her, this is the clincher or deal breaker. Because in any relationship, but more so with BDSM, if we don’t have trust… we have nothing.

“I do.”

My smile is so wide my cheeks ache. I really like the sound of that. “Good.” I thread my fingers through hers and relish the instant grip she gives in return.

Sam ran herself a bath and I have been searching in her kitchen for something to cook. I wasn’t necessarily expecting there to be all the ingredients for a full-on Christmas dinner, but I did expect a little more than this. The refrigerator is almost as empty as the day it stood in the showroom save six bottles of Bollinger and a litre of milk. The cupboards are filled with cans, ready pancake mix and tubs of weird protein powders for gaining bulk, some cereals, and very little else. I am using what she did have. A small tub of cream, some dried pasta, overripe tomatoes, and a sorry looking basil plant from her window ledge. The sauce takes less time to cook than the pasta, which is simmering nicely, and she did have a packet of those part-baked baguettes, so I am just waiting for them to turn golden. Then we are good to go.

The aroma fills the small apartment. It’s a cosy space considering the extra height of the ceilings and large windows. A converted first floor apartment of a much larger Victorian terrace house in the fashionable and expensive West End of London. The living space is open plan. Just off to the left of the kitchen is a small dining table with four chairs and a low hanging chrome light in the centre. It is laid out with fresh flowers and now holds two place settings. The seating area has two small sofas, not matching but with various cushions and throws rugs. There is one leather armchair, and I am pretty sure that is a sex lounger disguised as a chaise-lounge tucked against the far wall. There is a massive television with a stack of controls for both an Xbox and PlayStation. I know the apartment has three bedrooms. I have only seen one, but I get the feeling Sam is sharing her home with a guy.

Sam enters the room in the cutest pyjama set I have ever seen on a Dominatrix. White with a million pink frolicking bunnies, but on closer inspection, they aren’t frolicking, they are fucking. I laugh, and her cheeks colour and she giggles. She raises her perfectly shaped brow to challenge me to say something, but I just smile and pour the pasta to drain. She slides on the stool opposite and leans on the kitchen island. I have set the plates ready for food.

“That smells good.” She sniffs in a deep, satisfied breath. “Can I do anything to help? Actually, don’t ask. I didn’t even know I had pans.” Looking more than a little sheepish, she points to the pan with the simmering sauce.

“You don’t say.” I mock and start plating up. I’m no gourmet chef in the kitchen, but I can cook. Surely it’s an essential life skill. “Do you mind telling me what youwereplanning on eating today?”

“Apart from you…” She drops her voice low and sultry, and I nearly drop both plates. Fuck, I’m instantly hard, but I’m happier she is back to her confident self. She jumps down from the stool and follows me to the table. “I would’ve ordered take-out.” She shrugs and shakes her head like I have asked the dumbest question.

“It’s Christmas Day…nothing’s open.”

“It’s London, and I think you’ll find everything is open if you know the right people.” She dips her finger in the sauce and sucks it clean. That would’ve been boiling hot, and she didn’t flinch. So, high threshold for pain. Not helping the hard-on but good to know. I drop the napkin in my lap to hide my tenting jeans.

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