50_shades_ultimate Page 17

  He was so much bigger than I’d anticipated, and thicker than the average guy. I was honestly impressed. I de-pantsed him but asked him to put the boots back on. I liked his boots. I ran my hands up the soft, professionally distressed leather, up his thighs, and gripped his hips as I dragged him beneath me.

  “Let me do you like that time…” he offered.

  “Be quiet,” I told him, and he was.

  I bowed my head and licked him from the warm velvet of his sack to the tip of his cock. I tasted the imported Egyptian cologne he liked and his own sweet male arousal. I rubbed my roughened cheek against his shaft. He spasmed when I reached his swollen head. I took him in my mouth and suckled him, running my tongue and teeth around his crown until he was moaning deep in his throat and his fingers were tangled in my hair. He arched his back as I slowly and inexorably drew the orgasm out of his body. I pulled away just before he came, not because I didn’t want to taste him but because my need to watch him come was more powerful. He jerked spastically and ropes of thick white semen spilled from his dick and slapped against his lower belly. I touched them, then offered my fingers to Kit. He sucked his own spunk off my fingers for me, one at a time, watching me the whole time for cues, for commands. It was unbelievably sexy.

  “Do you have that protection?” I asked. I wanted him, suddenly very much, but I had no condoms here. It wasn’t something I had packed when I’d moved to Westford, and I didn’t exactly have a happening night life.

  “In my pants,” he managed, and he sounded like he was in some reverie.

  I quickly found them in his discarded jeans. “Were you going out?” I asked. The idea suddenly hurt me and made me angry. I wondered if he had a boyfriend.

  “I was waiting for you.”

  “What made you think I would want you?” I asked, and then realized how cruel that sounded. “Not that I don’t,” I hastily added. “I just wondered how you anticipated this.”

  “Henry…” He gave me a droll look as he pushed himself up on his elbows. “Obviously you don’t recall much of that night we were together.”

  “Some. I was pretty drunk.”

  He gave me a sexy grin as he worked the condom open for me. My hands were shaking too much. “You weren’t exactly all Reluctance & Angst Guy, okay? You came faster than anyone I’ve ever been with, like you could barely contain yourself.”

  I felt a flash of embarrassment at his observation. I didn’t like people knowing me that well. But the embarrassment only fed into my aggression, my need, and before long I was wrestling him down on the bed, kissing him again, his lips and chin, and biting the side of his neck while he sighed and his hands explored my back and ass. His fingers traced the cleavage there and he briefly inserted a finger, which fed into my already growing desire to be inside him, close to him. The way he touched me reminded me of how completely unchildlike he really was. He was a man—a man not without experience.

  I couldn’t help myself as I held him down and dry humped him, rubbing my already enormously engorged cock against his flat belly. I didn’t want to think about the implications of what we were doing; I just wanted the feel of his warmth in the cold room.

  He made a delicious groan as I squeezed the muscles of his chest and arms, fondled his balls and dripping cock. It felt good to rub my naked skin against his and hold him close while Kit slid back and forth on the sheets, smearing precum against my chest and belly. “Stop fucking around, Henry,” he simpered, and the sound of his voice like that, begging me with such a dulcet tone, made me want to be not so gentle with him. I loved him, wanted him, wanted to consume him.

  I pushed him down and spread his legs, hooking his knees over my shoulders so the heels of his boots dug into my shoulder muscles. I bowed my head once more and licked at his seam and asshole. He cried out and I wondered if anyone had ever rimmed him before, if anyone had ever been this intimate with him, or if his life had been more slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am (or sir). With a little spit and precum I pushed two fingers inside him, widening him. He was dry inside and I rubbed at the inside of his body until he thrust against my invasion and begged me to fuck him, to fuck him hard, and make him mine.

  Finally, I pinned him down and forced my way inside him, just the crown of my cock. Kit twitched and moaned quietly on the pillows and I said, “Want me to stop, hon?”

  “God, no.” His fingers dug into my shoulders as he tried to impale himself on me. “I want you to have my ass, Henry. All of me. And stop being such a pussy. Give it to me.”

  I gave it to him, bucking and burying myself to the hilt inside the seething pressure of his body. He mewled as I pumped him, pumped him hard, in and out in a series of short contractions, claiming his ass one inch at a time. He met each of my thrusts with one of his own, and with each he seemed to pull me in deeper—not just my body but my heart. I watched as I moved in and out of his body, and the incredibly erotic sight of his cock spurting once more, this time into the indention of his own navel. I felt the orgasm at the small of my back growing as it was wrenched out of me. Kit’s fingernails dug deep into my shoulders and we kissed savagely as I came, growling, against his mouth, inside his body. His cries of pleasure were spoken into me, into my mouth, as I made love to it as I was making love to the rest of him.

  After we’d exhausted ourselves, the blankets felt much too hot. I lay atop them, with him pressed into my side, his head tucked up under my chin.

  “I want to be yours, Henry,” Kit told me. He sounded sleepy.

  “Mine? My little pet? My little cat?”

  He moaned in agreement.

  “Hey, what’s new, pussycat?” I said softly under my breath.

  “What?”

  Leo…Kit. I laughed at the cosmic joke being played on me. “Nevermind,” I said, kissing his hair. “It doesn’t matter.”

  * * *

  We were more than five months into our “contract” with deceased Aunt Gigi when it all started falling apart. I woke one morning to find myself alone. Despite Aunt Gigi’s sprawling and meticulously well-kept Victorian, Kit had chosen to spend most nights here with me. I woke around four, surprised to find him up and about already.

  Getting up, I found my robe and slippers and went downstairs. Kit was in the stockroom, pouring over a laptop and running figures on a calculator.

  “Everything okay?” I asked. I sounded so hoarse before coffee.

  He looked up at me from beneath sleep-tousled hair, his eyes troubled, and said, “Not in the least. This bottom line isn’t working out, Henry.”

  I felt a spike of annoyance. “We’re in the black. I know we are. And we’ve been selling like crazy with the holidays coming up.”

  “It’s not enough for Gigi’s bottom line,” he informed me, tapping a ledger with a pen. “Or, it won’t be, in a few weeks.”

  He didn’t have to say it. I knew what he meant. If we dropped below Aunt Gigi’s bottom line, we’d forfeit the inheritance. The house, the business. Everything.

  Kit gnawed the top of his pen. “What are we going to do, Henry? I was never really the business end of the shop. I’m better at convincing customers to buy shoes they don’t need.”

  “Lemme think about it,” I said, and I spent the rest of the day doing just that.

  That night, I made a few phone calls to New York, some socialite friends of mine, most of them well-known authors. They knew people who knew people, most of them moneyed. Of course, they needed a reason to come all the way up here to Puss ‘N Boots to purchase Pradas they could more easily buy on Saks Fifth Avenue, so I improvised. Kit was less than enthused about my idea when I spilled it to him that night at dinner.

  “A fashion show? Here?” he said as he set the table. For the first time, he seemed to be really resisting me. “It’s been a long time since I walked a runway, Henry.”

  “But you remember how, right?” I looked him over. In his tight jeans and tailored shirt, I could feel my cock stirring already in my pants. I knew others would feel the same way. />
  He looked worried. “I’m almost thirty years old, Henry,” he said. “Way past my prime. And there’s nothing tackier than an old queen on a runway.”

  “Well, if you know any young queens…” I shrugged and laughed.

  I thought he would laugh at my joke, laugh with me, but instead he just looked grim and cold. I realized this bothered him more than I had ever anticipated. I stopped draining the spaghetti into a colander and went to him, taking the plates from his hands before he dropped them. He went into the living room and sat down on the sofa by the hearth. I sat down beside him and watched him gnaw on a thumbnail.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling angry with myself. I had obviously hit a nerve, I just didn’t know which one. I didn’t know how to fix this because I had no idea what was broken.

  Kit shrugged and looked up at me from beneath smooth waves of red hair as thick and luxurious as a woman’s. With his green eyes and sweet face, I found it hard to believe he would ever be past his prime. “It’s okay…I…it’s not your fault.” He swallowed and took a deep breath before he spoke again. “It’s just…your runway idea put me in a bad place for a moment.”

  “Aunt Gigi said you were a good model, very successful.”

  “Not that successful,” he muttered. “The guy who was managing me down in New York took advantage of me.”

  His hands were shaking in his lap. I wanted to take them, but suddenly I was afraid to touch him. I had never seen Kit this way before. Usually he was so happy, such a bright person.

  “He took your money,” I guessed.

  “It was more than that, Henry.” His shoulders slumped. “He took advantage of me. He made me do things I’m not proud of. Pictures. Movies. You know. When Gigi found out, she was irate. She came and got me. The guy…he wouldn’t release me from my contract, so she threatened to take him to court, to dig up his past. He finally let me go, and she took me home. It’s just that we told everyone in the family that she needed help with the shop. We didn’t want them to know the truth. You know how they are.”

  I gave him a few moments to himself and his thoughts, then I reached out and covered his hands with my own. I knew it had taken an awful lot of courage to tell me all that. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I can find other models.”

  He looked up at me. “Do you mean that?”

  “Oh, Kit.” I drew him close against me and kissed him, my hand rubbing at his back and shoulders. My lust had cooled a little, but it was replaced by something else, something deeper. I didn’t just want him; I wanted to protect him. I wanted to make it all up to him, make all the pain he must have endured go away. I wanted to make him happy.

  “Do you want me, Kit?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He struggled to put a pleasant smile on his lips. “Now?”

  “Now—or forever?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After our contract with Aunt Gigi is up and we have the inheritance, let me stay. Or come back with me to New York, if you like. But stay with me. Or let me stay with you…forever.”

  The darkness lifted in his eyes. He climbed into my lap and hooked his arms around my neck. I held him easily against me, savoring his familiar warmth and closeness. “You mean like married? Do you want me to marry you?”

  I thought about that, then nodded. “Marry me. Stay with me. That’s what I want.”

  He kissed me, a long, loving kiss that I felt in every fiber of my being. I felt it in my skin, my blood, my cock, my heart. When we finally came up for air, he said, “You know, I think Gigi knew what she was doing when she set this trap for us.”

  “Is that a yes, then? Are you saying yes?”

  He smiled, a genuine smile, a Kit smile. “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  Kit knew plenty of models down in New York, and he had obviously touched many of their lives. Everyone I called asked about him and readily agreed to help him out. Aunt Gigi had likewise touched many people’s lives up here in Westford. Caterers, florists and party planners jumped for a chance to help me with the fashion show. Within days, everyone in town knew about it, and the papers in three counties were prepared to cover it.

  A few days later, some of the world’s top models were stomping down our improvised runway in the store, while dozens of socialites, celebrities and moneyed locals sat in the audience. A local wedding DJ handled all the announcements as a myriad of lights flashed around the room and the walls faintly vibrated with a popular techno beat. I was a very lucky man, I decided. Lucky to have friends—both in New York as well as Westford.

  The purchases were supersized, to say the least. The celebrities in the audience wanted dozens of Aunt Gigi’s shoes, in every conceivable style and color. After doing a quick tally of the receipts I had collected, I slipped into the storeroom to give Kit the good news that we were indeed above the bottom line. His inheritance was secure.

  I found him waiting his turn on the runway, dressed in French import jeans professionally distressed, a multi-colored silk shirt from India, and his favorite pair of tall, brown suede boots, the pair he had worn when we made love that first time.

  “Kit…” I began, but he held up a hand for silence.

  “I’m going on next.”

  I stood there like a giant doofus and just looked at him. “Why? You don’t need to.” I showed him the receipts. “We have more than enough sales to meet Aunt Gigi’s bottom line.”

  He shook his head at me and wagged his finger in my face. “I have to do this, Henry. I want to do this.” His green eyes glittered with determination. “I don’t want to be afraid of this anymore. Just support me, okay? As my fiancé, my lover, my husband, support me.”

  “Of course.”

  He went to me and slid his hands up my chest. The warm electricity of his touch made me gasp. “You’ve been so good to me, Henry, protecting me, helping me. That’s why I can do this. And that’s why I want to make it up to you later tonight.” He stared at me intently with those hypnotic, emerald-green eyes. “Come upstairs after the party. I have something to give you.” He took my hands and kissed them before sashaying off toward the runway.

  * * *

  I stayed in the storeroom and watched my lover stomp down our improvised catwalk. He had a very sexy walk, very confident and demanding. I was endlessly amused by how versatile Kit could be—both strong and fey at times. I felt a little bad about assuming he was so fragile. He had taught me a lot in the last few months, that blustering around didn’t mean you were particularly tough or untouchable, and that being afraid didn’t mean you were a weak person. The after-show party was just as exciting, full of drunken celebrity hijinks I cringed to think I’d be associated with in the next morning’s paper. Unfortunately, Kit disappeared about halfway through.

  After all our guests had left, drunken and otherwise, and the last of the models had bid me farewell, I closed up the show, secured our receipts, shook my head at the mess we had made of Aunt Gigi’s shop, and headed upstairs as Kit had instructed me.

  It was obvious that he had put a lot of work into his surprise. When I stepped into the living room, the lights were out but dozens of candles were lit and placed strategically on the floor to produce a runway effect that led me to the bedroom. I found dozens more inside, along with fresh new linens on the bed covered in orange rose petals (my favorite flower), a chilled bottle of champagne, and my lover waiting for me, fresh from a bath of vanilla bath salts and dressed in a long, silk dressing gown and the boots I loved so much. He came and took me by the hand and led me to the side of the bed we had been sharing for the past six months. He lifted his head and wordlessly brushed his lips against mine.

  I hungrily kissed him back, shocking him a little, I suppose, but not unpleasantly. Kit was all about slow sensuality and romance. I wanted things rough and fast, always had. Together we were almost a whole person. Our mouths clung in a kiss while we explored each other’s mouths and our hands explored each other’s bodies, litt
le groans bursting from our throats in response.

  I drew back just enough to say, “You said you had something for me.” I knew the proper thing to do was to wait until someone was ready to give you a gift, but I’d never been that way. I’d always torn into my gifts at Christmas, and when someone promised me something, I wanted it as soon as I could get it. Patience had never been my virtue.

  He stopped kissing and touching me long enough to retrieve an ornate red velvet box from the nightstand, near a vase full of more fiery orange roses. When I opened it, I found a collection of brightly colored scarves inside. I felt a little bad saying, “I’m not really into wearing scarves.”

  “They’re not for you, moron, they’re for me,” Kit laughed.

  I knew what he meant and I felt a spike of unease. “I’ve never done that.”

  “Bondage,” Kit informed me. “You can say the word, Henry. You’re an adult.”

  “I don’t think we should.”

  “Because you’re afraid I’m damaged?” Kit asked me archly, pushing me aggressively back toward the bed and forcing me to sit. “I’m not, you know. I’m all right. After tonight, I’m perfect. And I trust you, Henry. I wouldn’t do this with anyone else.” He shrugged out of his robe so he was gloriously naked except for the boots and knelt down in front of me like he was my servant. He went about the slow task of undressing me. He kissed and sucked at every newly revealed inch of skin. I let him have his way. He’d let me have my way with him for the past six months, though he insisted he didn’t mind at all.

  When we were both equally naked, he pushed me back on the bed and spent a little time licking along my shaft, following the contours, and nibbling the head of my cock until it wept. He sucked at my balls, first as a pair, then individually. My hips bucked in time with his quick little licks and kisses, and I felt a wave of déjà vu. He had done something similarly wicked and delicious to me that first time we were together.