The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

‘I’m saying that even sex slaves need showers.’ She looked at his bronzed body, entwined among the sheets, and itched to leap back into bed with him, to spend the whole day wrapped up in his arms, making love until they were too tired to move. When night fell maybe they would stir themselves, grab a takeout, settle in front of the television and watch one of those reality TV shows which he had always hated. Like a normal couple.

This was the forbidden hope and longing which she knew, in her saner moments, she had to fight, but now she compromised. ‘We could always have a shower together.’

‘Tempting…’ He slashed a smile and swung out of the bed, as lithe and graceful as a panther.

Megan turned away, already warm at the thought of his hands on her.

‘But before we turn on the water…’

Alessandro caught her from behind. In front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, she watched his big, naked body behind hers. For a second their eyes met and tangled in the reflection. She watched his hand push up under her pyjama top, slowly kneading her heavy breasts. She could see the drowsy flush on her cheeks as he tugged her nipples between his fingers, and when he removed the top the person she was looking at was breathing quickly, chest rising and falling, her nipples turning deep pink as he continued to play with them.

The person in the mirror was not someone in control. She was in the grip of a passion too big for her. But Megan couldn’t tear her eyes away from herself, watching as he continued playing with her, teasing her throbbing nipples with his fingers as he leaned down to nip and caress her neck with his mouth.

When he stopped paying attention to her breasts, leaving them full and aching, it was to hook his fingers in the elasticated waistband of her pyjama bottoms and run them delicately under the cotton against her skin—before driving his hand down between her thighs where he, oh, so slowly began to administer his full attention, rubbing the sensitised area with his hand while two fingers deliberately sought out her clitoris, tickling it until she wanted to pass out from the pleasure.

She made a motion to stop him before he took her to a point from which there would be no return, but Alessandro wasn’t interested in having his own needs fulfilled. Not yet. No, he wanted to look in that mirror and watch her melt against him. He wanted to see the surrender in her eyes as he brought her to a climax.

He gave a grunt of satisfaction as the hand that had been trying to brush his away fell to her side and she curved back into him, her body twisting as he continued to press faster and harder, until she could no longer help the shuddering release that came in uncontrollable waves, leaving her spent against his hard chest.

If he hadn’t been behind her, holding her, Alessandro was sure that she would have sunk to the ground from the power of her orgasm. She had cried out, and at that point had looked beautiful and flushed and helplessly in his control. And that had been immensely satisfying.

She curved round into him and he held her against him, his fingers tangled in her hair.

Gradually he could feel her breathing return to normal, and she laughed a little shamefacedly.

‘I didn’t want that to happen,’ she protested, tilting her face up to his.

‘I know,’ Alessandro drawled. ‘But I did. I wanted to feel you tremble against me as I brought you to fulfilment….’

‘It was selfish. Sex is a two-way street.’ She reached down and felt the hardness of him pressed against her. ‘And don’t you think that I’m going to let you get away that easily, mister.’ She laughed again—a deep, throaty laugh. ‘My turn now….’

But he obviously had more control than she did, because although she lavished as much attention on his arousal as he had on hers, he pulled her onto him and drove deep into her, his head thrown back and his eyes closed as he shuddered to his own climax, bringing her to another.

‘I really think I need a shower now,’ Megan said, when they were finally disentangled from each other. Her body was still tingling all over.

He had a huge wetroom, and it felt strangely natural to have her shower and wash her hair while he stood at the slate basin and shaved. They had fallen into a routine of seeing each other two nights a week. On a Wednesday and a Friday. She only ever stayed over on a Friday, and would leave bright and early on the Saturday morning. Sometimes they would have breakfast together. His chef always kept the fridge laden with delicacies. But she would always make sure that she was out of his house at a reasonable time. Hope might be there, and it might very well spring eternal, but there was no way that she was going to let herself get lulled into a false sense of security. At least not to the point where she would do anything about it.