The Architect (4 page)

Chapter Six

Trapped between his firm body and the tie that's taut across my arse, I ask him if he really wants me to be a good girl tonight, touching his lips ever so slightly with every ‘O' I pronounce.

“Hell no,” he says, before invading my mouth.

Rotating his tongue around mine, he pulls me tighter against his erection, and it brushes against my clit as I try to grind and thrust against him. Stepping back, he pulls me with him as he heads for the bed, flings me down, along with his tie, and kneels at the foot of the bed. My senses start to whirl, my head spins, my clit aches, and my mouth starts to salivate at the thought of what will happen next.

Baring both of my feet, he sucks my toes one by one. It's like nothing I've ever experienced before. The sensation of his slippery tongue poking through my interspaces has my core tensing and my clit stiffening. He swaps to the other foot and does exactly the same; tasting each individual toe before pushing through between my toes and making me squirm. Now at the last toe, he runs his tongue to my heel, and then slowly up my calf muscle until he meets the bottom of my pencil skirt.

“Turn over,” he growls.

I do as I'm told, and he unzips my skirt slowly to the bottom of my arse, then peels back the sides to expose what's beneath.

“Fuck,” he says, a low guttural sound.

“What is it?” I strain my neck to get sight of him.

“You have the most amazing arse I've ever seen.”

“Stop it.” I blush, and try to pull my skirt closed.

“You stop it,” he orders, grabbing my wrists. He places my hands on the bed either side of my head, before grabbing my hips and lifting them high, until my toes are the only things touching the soft carpet.

Burying my head into the bed I feel him tug at my skirt until it falls freely to the floor, then he slaps my bare bum cheek lightly. Not expecting it, I stand, but his hand guides me back into my bent position, and he spanks me again.

“I told you I didn't want you to be good tonight.” Another strike. “And you know what bad girls get, don't you?”

I'm silent. I think I know the answer he's looking for, so I give it to him. “Spanked?” I wonder if he likes this kind of stuff.

“That they do, you bad girl.” He slaps my flesh once more, and I watch from under my arm as he gets down on his knees and runs his tongue up the edge of my thong.

Starting near my pussy, he follows the material up along the crease of my arse and to the T-junction of fabric at the bottom of my back. He does this several times, and every time he comes back down to start again, my knickers are wetter, my moans hungrier. My clit cries out for attention as it throbs and hardens at his teasing.

Finally he hears it calling, and with his long tongue, scoops up and hits the spot. I melt as I lower my head and muffle my sounds in the duvet. Hooking my underwear with his finger and pulling them to the side, he gets down to the real business. He flicks back and forth on my clit, breaking the pleasure to slither his way to my pussy where he circles, but doesn't enter, and then slips back to my clit.

My muscles tighten and I rock against his large snake-like tongue and concentrate on the feeling as I tilt my hips to encourage my climax. With every movement I build closer and closer, until that yes moment hits my body, and I come. Moaning as he laps at me and tastes my juices, I suddenly become extra sensitive and start to buck at the intense tickling feeling.

He moves away.

Turning to sit on the foot of the bed, I watch him unfasten his trousers, only a few feet away from me, and drop them to the floor, along with his boxers. His cock bounces and almost gestures a come hither movement as he unbuttons his shirt and throws it on the floor.

I answer his gesture and grab his thick muscle at the base, guide him forward, and run my tongue around his head and down his shaft. With his cock now slick from my priming, I open wide, and suck on him slow.

He groans every time I take him to the back of my throat, and thrusts as I pull away. I quicken my actions as my clit begins aching again.

Heath's hands bundle my hair up into a ponytail and tug each time my head moves away from him.

“Fuck,” he shouts, pulling away from me.

Shocked, I stand up from the bed. “What? What's the matter?”

Squeezing his cock, he gives me that sexy half-smile. “I was gonna come.”

Pleased with myself, I park my bum back on the bed, stretch my arms out behind me and smile. “Well, of course you were.”

He beams and heads for the dresser with his hard on pointing the way, takes out a foil packet, and wraps himself. Then he returns to me, lifting me up the bed, ripping down my thong and laying his weight on me.

“Now then, you bad girl,” he says as he directs himself to my pussy, “let me hear you say my name.” He slides in like he was made to fit, and I giggle before I whisper his name.

“All of it.” He pants as he pushes into me.

I say his name in my head over and over as he jerks into me and catches my tender spot inside.

“Say it,” he pressures.

And I do, I say it, and he breathes heavy against my ear and slows.

Surely not? He can't have already.

He delicately pulls himself out of me and kneels in between my bent legs. I crank my head up and raise my eyebrows at him.

He smiles. “Don't give me that look, it's all your fault. You're just too sexy.”

I settle my head back on the pillow and sigh.

He chucks the used protection in a wastepaper basket by a desk in the corner, lies down beside me, and exhales.

We lie here for a while, just relaxed and quiet, until my mind starts to kick back into everyday mode. I question myself about staying or leaving. Deciding not to assume, I get up and search for my undies on the floor.

He rolls onto his side and props his head up with his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find my underwear,” I tell him, while hiding my modesty with my hands. Not that there's really much point now, but suddenly things aren't so intimate, and I feel vulnerable.

“They're over there.” He grins and points towards the window.

Retrieving my lace thong, I stumble into it while making my way back to the bed to grab my skirt from the floor. Sitting back on the luxuriously cushioned mattress, I bend to pull my skirt on, and his hand brushes my arm.

“Are you leaving?” He sounds displeased.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted me to stay.”

“Of course I want you to stay.” He smiles and flops back onto the bed. “This isn't a ‘wham, bam, thank you ma'am' kind of deal. Now come here.” He pulls the duvet back for me, and I discard my skirt and accept his invitation.

Snuggling up in his arms, I rest my head on his chest and ponder in the silence.
What is this? If it's not a ‘wham bam' thing, then could this be the making of a relationship?
I know men are all very nice just after they've got their end away, but he feels so genuine. I wouldn't mind having any type of relationship with him; he's smart, funny, sexy, attractive, and he knows just how to hit the spot.
Maybe I should ask to see him again, or should I wait until the morning?
I could come across as too needy if I ask now, and I don't want to scare him off.

“Ruth?” he whispers.

I leave the conversation with myself for later. “Yes?”

“You're stunning, you know.”

I smile and thank him, hoping this isn't going the way I think it is, and that he's going to tell me he can't see me again.

“Pleasure's all mine.” He takes a deep breath. “Will you see me again? I know you're probably busy, but just while I'm here, will you let me take you out and have some fun?”

My heart aches at the relief of not being rejected. “Sure, I'd like that a lot.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” I look up at him. “Who wouldn't?”

Remaining still, he smiles before reaching out to switch the lights off and shuffling to get comfortable. “Well, I'm honoured,” he says, before kissing my head and bidding me a good night.

Unable to fall asleep as fast as him, I lie and stare at the patterns on the walls made by the bright lights of the city outside, and wonder where this will go, and if I will fall for him. Or if I already have.

My eyes snap open and I'm blinded by the sunlight pouring into the room. Giving myself and my poor eyes a moment to adjust, my brain recollects the images around me and I'm back to reality from my sleep.

I hear falling water and bottle tops popping.
He must be in the shower.
Sitting up, I dangle my legs off the bed and run my fingers through my hair before stretching. Retrieving my skirt I hurriedly pull it on as I hear the water stop and his feet step onto the tiled floor. As I zip the skirt up, hoping that I look at least a bit respectable, he enters the room looking fresh-faced and utterly shaggable in his white robe, rubbing his hair dry.

“Good morning,”

“Morning,” I reply, bringing my hair forward over my shoulders to cover my face as much as possible, in case I look a complete wreck.

He kisses me softly on the cheek. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” I ask, as he walks over to the dark wooden desk and flips his laptop open.

“Look so beautiful in the morning.”

“Oh, come on.” I laugh as I head for the door he just came through. “Do you mind?” I point into the bathroom.

“Of course not, help yourself.”

I take a quick shower and avoid my face so I can make the best of what makeup I've got left on, before returning to the bedroom. When I enter the room, Heath is sitting at the desk tapping away on his laptop.

He smiles from over the screen. “I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of ordering room service.”

Looking over to the array of pastries and black coffee, I take a bite out of one of the croissants and empty the mug before telling him I'll be on my way, as I can see he's busy.

“I'll drop you home,” he insists, striding to the wardrobe that matches the desk.

“You don't have to do that, you've got work to do.”

“Nevertheless, I'd like to drop you home.”

I agree to his offer and thank him as he throws on a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt. Even casual he looks like a god. The denim clings to his narrow hips and cute arse, and his shirt tightens over his wide shoulders and arm muscles.

I let out a ‘phwoar' in my head, and then stand there completely innocently as he holds the door for me.

We take the lift down, and he puts his arm around my waist and kisses me on the forehead before we hit the ground floor. On our slow stroll through reception Philip walks past and asks how our evening was. I blush slightly and Heath tells him that his appetite was satisfied.

Waiting until we are out of the hotel and out of earshot from anyone, I giggle. “Oh my God, you have no shame.”

“What do you mean?” He winks as he opens his car door for me.

I, as gracefully as I can, take the passenger seat, and look up at him as he's about to shut the door and say, “Oh, you know exactly what I mean, Mr Berkley.”

He grins and shuts the door before taking the driver's seat and firing up the engine. As he drives the route like he's done it a thousand times before, I have a quick nose around his car to see what items of his personality I can spot. The car is spotless; not a speck of dust in sight. The only objects in the car are three CDs and a packet of cigarettes, which pushes me to ask, “How often do you smoke?”

He makes a face as he shifts from third to fourth gear. “That's a strange question.”

“I know, it's just I saw you smoke on Friday night.” Naughty flashback. “But I didn't see you do it last night.”

“You're very observant.” He changes gear again. “I only smoke socially or when I'm stressed.”

“So which were you on Friday?” I tease.

He glances at me. “A nervous smoker.” His forehead creases. “I'm not sure if I should apologise for my behaviour on Friday night.”

He waits for me to say something, but I remain quiet and let him carry on explaining.

“I've never done anything like that before. It was like the animal inside me took over and I had to have you.” He checks the wing mirror my side and clicks the indicator down. “I just want you to know that I don't make a habit of jumping women down alleyways.” He grins at me.

Smiling, I respond with, “Well, no apology necessary. I'm glad the beast within took over.”

His grin becomes wider and I respond with a cheeky smile and turn to watch the road ahead.

He's a proper London driver, weaving in and out of lanes and occasionally being courteous. Watching him guide the gear stick around with his big hand, I slip into a daydream. His hands all over me, holding me, teasing me, grabbing me, smacking me. I can't believe how much I enjoyed getting spanked last night and that now I'm actually fantasising about it.

My daydream is broken when Heath honks the horn and starts waving his hands about at a blue Ford in front. I try not to laugh at him getting carried away, but I can't help myself, so I turn to the window and titter before calming the giggles and facing forward again.

His car is so smooth over the bumps and down the lumps in the roads, not like my little car - you can feel every pebble on the road in that tiny thing - but I can't complain, it's done me well.

As we get closer to my place, I see him taking quick looks at me and clenching his jaw until he finally comes out with it and asks if I'm free for a coffee tomorrow.

“I'm working tomorrow, but I can meet you on my lunch break if you like?”

He starts to slow the car. “That sounds like a plan, where and what time?”

“One o'clock?” I request, hoping that he's free. “And I can meet you at that café we passed on the high street if you like?”