She dismissed it, stretched her fingers up towards the bedpost, then gasped when the mattress sloped downwards either side of her, Everett's knees straddling her hips. Even in his suit, he looked shockingly primitive, bearing down on her to bind each wrist with a tasteful paisley-patterned tether. She almost expected him to lunge down and take a chunk from her neck. If he wanted to, he could. There would be no way of stopping him. Perhaps she ought to feel afraid – properly afraid, rather than this pleasurable tension. Everett was all right, wasn't he? His ex-wife was alive, not hacked into several pieces under the patio. It would be fine.
He crouched low over her, his hands around her bound wrists, his pale pointy nose touching hers. 'I can do anything I want to you,' he said, putting a voice to her greatest fear and greatest desire. 'But since you're a novice to this, I'm going to play fair. I'm going to ask you what you'd like me to do.'
'Oh.' Rachael had not expected this. She was calling the shots? Was that allowed? And what shots should she call? 'Well . . .' She hesitated. He moved his face to the side and murmured into her ear.
'Any ideas? Anything you like.'
He sat back on his haunches, looking down at her, smiling like the cat who got an entire dairy full of cream. It was a stirring look, a look that banished Rachael's fears and made her feel as powerful as a woman tied to a bed can possibly feel.
She smiled back. 'What you were doing before . . . that was good.'
'Making you write out a contract?'
'No! With your fingers . . . and your tongue.'
'My fingers and my tongue? Where, Rachael? Here?' He bent back down, slipping the tip of his tongue between her lips, prising open her jaw while his fingers made pleasurable ripples along her scalp and down her neck.
This was what they meant by plundering lips, she thought, opening up without complaint to the thorough probing of her mouth and throat.
He sat up again abruptly, leaving her lips stinging and raw, and began to take off his shirt. 'Was that what you meant?' he asked, unbuttoning his cuffs before flinging the garment, toreador-style, to the corner of the room.
'Not quite,' she admitted shyly, casting an eye over his lightly freckled chest. It was not exactly beefcake, but she didn't like beefcake anyway. In fact, what the heck was beefcake? Some kind of burger? No, this would do fine; the beginnings of a paunch might not get him on to the cover of GQ but it would feel enjoyably heavy on top of her. She had always liked to feel weighed down, almost cr
ushed, by her lovers.
'Maybe this then?' His hands drifted down to her modest breasts, playing with them as if they were an arcade game, flicking and twisting the switches that made her light up. He dabbed his tongue across a nipple and hit the jackpot.
'Oh, not there! That's good but . . . lower . . .' pleaded Rachael.
'Lower, eh?' Everett grinned demonically. 'I'm not a toesucker, if that's what you're after.' He unbuckled his belt and swished it from its loops, doubling it over and cracking it into his palm for effect. 'Do you like a bit of pain, Rachael?' he asked, running the cold leather across her nipples and down her stomach. 'I hope you do, because soon enough I'm going to want to warm your arse with this.'
She squealed a little and bit her lip. Her heart was pounding, and her clit echoing the rhythm. To her partial relief, Everett dropped the belt to the floor with a jingling clink, then began to undo his trousers. He shifted, parting her thighs and kneeling between them, to remove them completely, getting rid of his boxers at the same time. The erect cock that sprang up from its nest of pale gold was decently proportioned and ready for action. All at once Rachael changed her mind, wanting to feel this inside her. Fingers and tongues could wait for another day.
But there were certain proprieties to attend to first.
'Oh, you're still wearing your shoes and socks,' she pointed out. Strange that a mature man would make this schoolboy error, but somehow touching.
'So I am. Getting carried away,' he muttered, pulling them off. 'You'll have to pay for that.'
'Me?'
'Oh, yes. You'll find that the fault is never mine.' He smiled again, recovering from his temporary embarrassment, and made a dive between her knees.
'I want you to fuck me!' blurted Rachael, before Everett's tongue took its chance to addle her brain.
He leant up on his elbows, perfectly triumphant, the naked civil servant.
'I'm happy to oblige,' he said. 'We ought to use protection, I suppose.'
'Yes, we ought,' said Rachael, amused by the glumness this seemed to produce.
'Some submissives don't like it,' he said, fumbling in his trouser pocket.
'Some submissives.' Rachael shrugged, finding it odd to hear herself referred to as an adjective. Everett pushed his moment of pique aside, rubbered up and returned to his predatory position, shinning up Rachael's body, lifting each thigh in his hands and sucking hard on their insides before covering her upper half, braced as if about to perform a set of athletic press-ups over her. She pushed her bottom up off the covers, digging her heels in, welcoming the new visitor to her doors, straining against the silken ties that were so much better than the dressing gown cord.
Almost abruptly, Everett surged up inside Rachael, impaling her at a stroke. He formed a cradle with his hands under her bottom, keeping it raised at the angle he needed to perform the fastest and most blistering fuck he could manage. This was going to be a statement of intent, a promise of things to come. Rachael crossed her ankles behind his back, hanging on for dear life as he began to stamp his ownership at a pounding pace, angling diagonally down so that he crossed her clitoris with each stroke.
'I could do this all night,' he growled. 'You couldn't do anything about it.'