Thrill Seekers: Erotic Encounters. Elizabeth Coldwell
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now the limo bars the way and the pack’s almost here.
I’ve no choice. I launch myself through the open door as eager hands from behind clutch at what’s left of my three-thousand dollar Alaïa. I collapse into the upholstered luxury of the back seat, fighting for breath.
The car speeds away, silent and swift, and I’m safe.
Or am I?
The man sitting at the other end of the seat is elegant and unruffled. I envy him his calm.
He has clearly not just run for his life from a gang of eager young males intent on mayhem. His ankle is not twisted, his eyes are not wild and he’s not clawing in great lungfuls of air, his chest straining with pain and effort.
The car is enormous but he’s sitting alone. His piercing gaze both strips me naked and disapproves at the same time.
His eyebrow lifts, faintly sardonic. ‘Friends of yours?’
‘No,’ I rasp. He thinks I run about the streets just for fun?
I take hold of myself. This is no time to lose my temper. I owe him.
I can just about speak now but pain darts through my chest like needles. About four streets ago my lungs seemed to lose the use of oxygen. Now it’s slicing back.
‘Thank you for …’ I tail off.
I want to thank him for rescuing me, this shining knight who’s scooped me up from an alleyway like a stray cat, but I pause, lips parted.
Is he a shining knight? Or an enemy? Maybe I’ve escaped one foe only to fall foul of another.
Past his shoulder I catch my reflection in the car window. Is this what he sees? My grandmother came from Naples. I owe her my full, sculpted mouth, long legs and striking figure.
My looks can cause me problems, like they did just now. My passionate nature’s far worse but that’s hardly her fault. That’s all me.
Tonight it’s brought me to this. And as I take a good look at my rescuer it’s my undoing now.
He’s stunningly handsome, and not just in a regular, look-at-me-I’m-rich kind of way. There’s a delicate appeal in the tilt of his eyebrows, a hint of power in the set of his jaw, arrogance in the flare to his nostrils.
Irresistible.
Our eyes lock and in that instant I’m lost. I’ll do whatever this man wants me to do. And from the way his eyes are feasting on my heaving breasts, scanty, torn dress and alley-spattered limbs I’ll probably have to.
He frowns. ‘Do you need a hospital? Police?’
He wants to know if I was attacked. I shake my head and count my blessings. ‘No. I just panicked when they tore my …’ I tail off.
He can see what they tore. His eyes have barely left the spot.
I flinch as he leans forward. He hesitates, eyeing me with a flicker of concern. I sit very still as he pulls my gaping neckline down a little further to expose the other breast.
His touch is like fire, just the lightest brush of his fingers but it shimmers on my skin like electricity. An answering tremor runs all through me, straight to my groin.
‘That’s better. More symmetrical.’ He leans back and eyes me with satisfaction, like I’m some rare ornament he’s just improved by moving it a fraction to the left.
Whoa.
‘I’m not a taxi service. But I’ll drive you wherever you like as long as you’re willing to accept … certain terms.’
Terms?
It seems my rescue comes at a price.
‘Or I can drop you off now and you can go back to your friends, or not, as you wish. Which would you like?’
His manner is friendly but his tone is sharp. His mouth sets in a firm line, leaving no room for negotiation.
‘I’ll stay.’ My response is firm and prompt, perhaps too prompt.
A flicker of satisfaction crosses his face and then is gone. Maybe I dreamed it.
‘OK, your call. Come closer.’ His voice is low, his steady gaze giving nothing away.
Slowly, unsure what I think about this, I edge towards him along the seat. He watches me with a gleam, the intensity of his look sending tremors of excitement all through me, making the down rise all along my arms, making my nipples stiffen and swell.
He sees them. He says nothing, but a faint twitch at the corner of his long mouth warns me he’s taken them into account. He eyes them appreciatively, a low murmur somewhere deep in his throat.
The sound of it stirs something in me too. Deep down I begin to pulse.
‘Delightful. Now I want you to offer them.’
I stare at him in dismay. It occurs to me that I’ve accepted his terms but I forgot to ask what they were.
Too late now. I must play this by ear.
The gleam in his eyes is my only guide to his feelings as I cradle my breasts in my hands and fondle them suggestively, making them bulge and swell.
Is this what he wants?
‘Offer them like you mean it.’ His voice lowers to a breathy purr and I press harder, pushing out my nipples with my fingers and thumbs, rolling them slightly and giving them a hard pinch or two to make them rosy.
His breathing quickens, his lips part. ‘Press back your shoulders.’
I do as he asks, arching my back so I can thrust them forward.
I have firm, generous breasts – another Neapolitan legacy. And a get-out-of-jail card.
Why is this so hot? This simple act of submissive display is burning me up.
He dips his head to touch his lips first to one and then to the other, sucking in a great mouthful of each, nipping and tormenting my nipples with his teeth.
I throw back my head and groan as his hot, eager mouth sets me on fire.
He straightens up with a faint smile, eyes agleam, and leans back on the seat.
It’s a greeting of sorts but it hardly prepares me for his next move.
Without any warning he seizes me by the waist and hauls me over his lap. He pushes me down headfirst towards the floor and grabs one of my legs, ducking his head underneath so my knees are at either side of him and my elbows are leaning on the floor.
‘What are you doing?’ Shock makes me shrill, shame makes me crimson. The car’s windows are blank from outside but from where I’m looking motorists are leering in at the darkened windows, rubber-necking for celebs.
Naturally they can’t really see me but that’s not what it feels like.
He pushes me down further and now my head’s down low, my ass high up. My forehead presses into the carpet. It’s soft and faintly perfumed. His valeting service, like everything else about him, must be very expensive.
‘What do you think I’m doing?’ His voice is calm and low, his grip surprisingly strong. My arched feet are way up on the seat at either side of his head, my cleft spread wide and fully displayed as I try to twist over.
‘Keep still.’ He delivers a hard, stinging slap on my bottom and I shriek. Instantly his hands caress my naked, exposed rear while my most private places yawn wide across his thighs like an open book.
‘No panties? No wonder you were followed. You deserve a thoroughly sound –’ he slaps me again, and once more I yell ‘– spanking. So I’d better give you one.’
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