Page 16 of Untether

Someopen your legsthere.

Perhaps even the occasionalhands on the wallorshow me how well you take my cock.

Vanilla with a bite.

And that’s absolutely fine. I can deliver that low-kink smorgasbord in my sleep. I can turn on the charm, and seduce her, and relax her, and make it feel like I’m coaxing, pushing, a little too hard when, really, it’s exactly what she wants.

She’s beautiful, and she’s had her needs neglected to an extent that’s pretty fucking criminal. She wants to be corrupted just the right amount, until she feels wanton and audacious and red blooded.

Quite right. And I’m absolutely the man for the job. I’ll do it with a cock of steel and a smile on my face, because it will be my privilege to bring this woman back to life.

Still, I’ll be holding back. Holding back the predator, the marauder within. The one who lurks in the shadows, scrupulously tethered in his cage as he bides his time.

Because this is about her and her needs and not about me or mine. She’s a classy, sophisticated woman who deserves a classy, sophisticated dalliance.

And that’s exactly what I’ll give her.

By my standards, anyway.

We eat light—dipsand chips and antipasti—and the cocktails keep on coming. As they do, she relaxes before my eyes. I suspect it’s the alcohol, but hopefully my little dick-trick icebreaker played its part. I understand she’s nervous about what lies ahead, but I won’t tolerate her being nervous because she doubts my level of interest.

In her or this project.

We’ve spent the majority of the meal grazing on delicious bites and discussing the logistics of the documentary. I didn’t fully grasp until now how much leeway she has with it. Azure has agreed to a two-part series with her, with a loosely articulated format (mainly to-camera interviews), but the content is at her discretion, and apparently the folks at Azure are excited to see the series ‘unfold organically’ as she takes her journey.

It sounds like a tonne of artistic licence and probably the exact format she needs to explore this path. I suspect they don’t hand that level of ownership to just anyone. But when you’ve stunned audiences with the artistry, the insight, of your reporting for decades, like she has, I suppose you’ve earned the right to latitude.

Hearing her talk about her plans for the programme, her hopes, is fascinating. But she’s still skirting around the meat of the issue to an extent I find highly amusing.

We’ve edged closer to each other. The bar’s got even busier, but our vantage point allows us a clear view to the burlesque-slash-cabaret that’s kicked off on stage. Right now, a guy who I think is supposed to be channeling Sexy Jesus is writhing on a pole in a loincloth. Fair play to him—his abs must be made of steel.

The music is sultry and loud enough to justify my putting my mouth closer to her ear as I trail the arm nearest to her along the back of the bench.

‘Have you thought about how you want to kick things off?’ I murmur in her ear.

She stiffens, the edge of her glass tugging deliciously at her bottom lip. I gently remove the glass from her grip and put it on the table. There’s a droplet of liquid where the glass was, and I brush my thumb over it before sucking said thumb into my mouth as I await her response.

‘Kind of,’ she says. ‘I mean, obviously. But I’m not sure I’ve gotten it straight in my head yet.’

‘Hmm,’ I say. ‘Because I have.’

She turns her head sharply towards me. ‘You have?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

It’s true. I have. I’ve given it a lot of thought. I’ve thought of little else, in fact, since Gen casually dropped the bombshell that I’d be schooling one of the most spectacular women on this country’s television screens.

And I have a tentative plan.

A plan that’s heavy on caregiving and taking it slow and pampering her with just the right amount of debauchery.

A plan that’s the perfect definition ofdirty-lite.

A plan I have no intention of divulging to her at this time.

Instead, I intend to fuck with her, in the best possible way, for as long as I can get away with.

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