And next time he would stay absolutely, totally in control
It was essential he do so. Quite, quite essential.
He came again to her the following night. She was wearing a different dress this time. Red, with a halter neck and a short, swirling skirt. This time he did not dine with her. He’d eaten at a business dinner in Athens. She was sitting in the lounge, with the air-con on too high, watching an English language news channel.
As he walked in her eyes veiled immediately. She stood up.
Tonight she was different. She stood passive, not displaying her body, just standing there, not meeting his eyes, not posing as she had been last night.
Her passivity lasted the entire encounter. He took her upstairs, turning her around in the bedroom to unzip and remove her dress. She was wearing panties this time, little wispy things that made him instantly hard. He stripped off his own clothes rapidly, and took her over to the bed.
She lay quite still while he reacquainted himself with her breasts. Only their physical response to his caresses told him that she was becoming aroused. That and the parted lips through which her breath was coming in soft, quick breaths, and the blind, glazed look in her eyes.
His hands made a leisurely progress, stroking and teasing until her nipples were hard and coral-red, his eyes always watching her body’s reaction to him. Then, when he judged her sufficiently aroused, he let his hands slide downwards.
She was wet already, the delicate tissues plumped and swollen. He let his fingers glide in their satin folds, watched her bite her lip, the blind, glazed look becoming more unseeing. Her fingers, lying inert on either side of her, bit into the softness of the bed. A low, helpless moan escaped her constricted throat.
He moved over her.
This time he controlled the pace. Controlled it absolutely. He parted her thighs and paused at the entrance to her body. Then he began to inch himself into her, his control total. He saw her eyes flare, and when he had filled her completely knew that her pupils were at maximum dilation.
Then he began to move in her, slowly, skilfully, building a rhythm, his body under his complete control. Her body, too.
With the same absolute control he gave her her first orgasm, and then, as it subsided, he gave her a second. Each time he watched her skin flush, her breath freeze, felt her heart rate burst, felt her internal muscles flux wildly, drawing him in yet more deeply. Each time he let her subside, let the sweat dew on her body, the pulse at her throat slow down again.
Only then, finally, did he take her one last time, with himself, to that same point of sensation.
Only then, in his own pleasure, did he stop watching her.
When he had climaxed he left her immediately.
He could not bear to be in the same house as her.
Let alone the same bed…
Vicky lay, staring upwards. The ceiling seemed to be revolving. It was an illusion, she knew, caused by the fire in her bloodstream.
She lay unseeing as the room moved around her. She was still in the same position he had left her in. She had not moved a muscle. He had gone some time ago, walking out of the room fully dressed, not looking at her. She had been spared that, at least.
But nothing else.
Nothing else at all.
Revenge—that was what he wanted, and that was what he was taking. But for her it was something different.
&nbs
p; It was exactly what he had planned for her.
Humiliation.
Cold ran through her, and a despair so deep within that she did not know where it came from.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this!
How—how had it gone so wrong? She had been so sure that she could do it—could be exactly what she had to be in order to take from this what she needed to take.
I was going to turn the tables on him—not let him do what he wanted to me—humiliate me and take his revenge on me. I was going to be exactly the kind of woman he likes—sexually sophisticated, dedicated to sensual pleasure, wanting nothing more from him than physical sensation. I was going to stay in control and call every shot.