The Deep End

She was headed back to the living room when Taureau called back in.

‘What would you do if I told you I wanted to move in here like a kept woman?’

‘I’d say yes.’

‘Good to know.’ She dropped her handbag onto the sofa and walked towards the window as she unbuttoned her coat. ‘Cameras here, too?’

‘Temporarily. This condo is typically used for contract workers and their families. I give them their privacy.’

‘I guess I was wrong about the kitchen not being used much,’ she murmured, and swept out of her coat. She spun around like she had for him in the conference room, her gaze moving to every corner of the room. ‘Where’s the camera?’

‘Guess.’

Grace focused on a piece of metal art hanging over the sofa and took a step towards it. ‘This?’

‘Not even close.’

Turning away from her first deduction, Grace tucked her hands behind her and thumbed the bottom hook of the corset.

‘Don’t do that,’ he warned.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t take off the corset.’

‘Why not?’

‘Do I really need a reason? You can take your panties off, though. Slowly.’

‘After I find your little hiding spot.’ She fingered the elastic clinging to her hips as she moved around. ‘Shall we make a game of it? Hot and cold?’

‘I don’t play games. You’re a smart girl; figure it out, and quickly.’

‘Patience is a virtue.’

‘It’s been a very long time since I’ve had any virtues, but by all means keep spouting clichés if it helps you.’

She ruled out anything that wasn’t at least eye-level and named a few more harmless pieces in the room. Not the dock where she had left her phone. Not hidden on the flat screen hanging opposite the sofa. Not the wireless modem in the little business area off the kitchen.

She grew tired of what wasn’t a game and could tell by Taureau’s clipped answers that he was too. Lifting her hair off her hot neck, she sank down on the sofa with a growl.

‘Just tell me.’

‘Look, and think.’

‘Seriously, just …’ A grin crept up to her mouth and twisted it. ‘It has to be the flower urn on the balcony.’

‘Smart girl. Wave hello.’

‘I can do better than that.’

She got to her feet and turned to make a show out of wriggling her panties over the garters and stockings. She left them in a twisted rosette on the floor and knelt on the edge of the sofa.

‘No objections?’

‘I have you right where I want you.’

‘This is very odd, Jacques.’ She brushed her palm across the hump of her ass and twisted her face towards the balcony. ‘Something tells me you didn’t get me out of the office because you wanted me to be more comfortable.’

‘Just go slowly for now.’

Draping one arm over the back of the sofa to take her weight, she ran her hand from her ass to her abdomen, and kept it out of his sight as she crooked her middle finger over her clit.

‘Slowly.’

He delivered his seductive command in a whisper, eliciting a shiver from her as she thought of hearing that accented baritone urging ‘slowly’ as he did just now, as he pressed his lips to her ear’s shell, hands on her shoulders and fingers gripping harder, his body hot and demanding against her back.

She closed her eyes and lost herself in her imagination. In none of these wicked little episodes of fantasy could she conjure up his face. He was always in hiding, or behind her, sometimes slipping something over her eyes to keep her blind. It was vexing and stirring all at once, and even when frustration nipped at her she gave herself over to it.

‘Don’t you want to know what I’m thinking?’

Her breath hitched on her last word as her touch evoked an ecstatic, throbbing ribbon around her clit.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he told her. ‘It’s not so hard to read you. You tell me everything I need to know by the way you hold your pose.’

‘Tell me,’ she said, more of a chant than a plea.

‘You’re thinking of how you’d offer yourself up to me like you are now. You’ve got this silly little notion in your head that you might bring me to my knees this way, that I’d bow and follow your fingers through that wet gash, that eventually you’d be able to rest your head against the seat and let me finish you off.’

She slipped her fingers lower, not only to give him a glimpse of the tips slipping into her cunt but to gather the wetness there.

‘Tell me why I’m wrong.’

She adjusted her pose in anticipation, lowering her head and lifting her ass so that he could see her smear the shining juices through her swollen lips.

‘You tell me.’

It was uncanny how quickly this storytelling came with Taureau. Grace had always been what some would consider masculine in her arousal: dirty movies and dirty talk, kisses seeking a tongue from the start while she made her demands with her hands. It was always about the pulsing, breathless end and how she could get to it as quickly and furiously as possible.

With Taureau, she relished the wait, and relished the sanctions he imposed upon her. These scenarios flowed through her like music, and in return she sang for him.

‘Oh, if you had me like this, I’d still offer myself up to you,’ she said. ‘You’d give, too, wouldn’t you? For all your words, you’d give me just enough. You’d stand over me and watch the goose bumps rise on my hands and arms, and watch me get wetter and wetter just from having you where you are. You’d watch me play with myself, like this …’

She cranked her arm and used all four fingers to rub through her slick labia.

Slowly.

The word was unspoken, but the fact that she heard it nonetheless was a testament to how her psyche was getting used to absorbing his commands. She slowed down, forcing herself just to tease even though she still needed to go fast and hard.