Charlie
I eye the driver suspiciously in the rear-view mirror. He greeted me immediately outside my flat like he knew what I looked like and who I was.
Knowing Danny Walker, the guy has seen my dental, medical and financial records before collecting me.
Apart from the courteous greeting when he opened the door for me and offered me refreshments, we’ve been travelling in silence for forty-five minutes. Plenty of time for me to turn into a quivering wreck.
Is he at Danny’s beck and call 24/7? Is that his job, collecting and dropping off random women at Danny’s house? I wonder how many women have travelled in this car in the wee hours of the morning.
Danny lives in Richmond, across the other side of London. At this rate crawling through London on a Saturday night, it’ll be morning before we get there.
The streets get wider and greener as we drive towards Richmond, with trees lining the pavements. Suddenly we are bumping along the road, and I feel like I’m travelling down a country road rather than a posh London suburb.
“Sorry for the potholes. The road is private. The residents own it.” He smiles at me in the mirror. “They intentionally don’t maintain it so that cars don’t take shortcuts down it.”
We pull into a private cul-de-sac, and he stops in front of a very intimidating house. “This is us.”
I gawk out the window at a dwelling similar in size to Somerset House.
“You’ve never been here before?” He opens the door for me and watches me in amusement.
I shake my head.
“It’s a Grade II listed building,” he explains as I get out of the car.
It’s a gigantic detached three-story Victorian mansion. No, scrap that. Palace.
I count three windows on either side of the magnificent projecting porch with fluted columns, six large windows on the second floor, and some sort of roof terrace on the top.
There’s even a small pond in the immaculately groomed front garden.
Two cars sit in his driveway, the Aston Martin and a Range Rover.
This is the opposite of what I was expecting. It looks like a family home. Does he live with anyone? I’ve never asked. I realise I don’t know much about his private life in London.
Maybe it’s secluded for his loud orgies.
While I stand clueless on the lawn, Danny opens the door, a smile spreading across his face.
“Charlie.” That deep sexy voice hits me, and a shiver runs up my spine. Every time. I want to bolt back to the safety of the car.
He’s changed into a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans with paint on them and no socks. The T-shirt hangs over his sculpted chest perfectly.
He’s never looked more handsome.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly.
He raises his brows, signalling for me to come through the door. “Are you going to come inside?”
“I was expecting a butler to greet me.”
“I’m your butler,” he mocks, making the notion somehow sound filthy.
“Just a minute.” He brushes past me, squeezing me around the waist, and strolls over to his driver.
They mumble something inaudible as I stand stiffly on the porch. Peering into the hallway makes me even more nervous. To no surprise, the interior is just as opulent as the exterior.
The hallway has huge ceilings, marble flooring, and artwork strategically placed on the walls. Everything flows together. A mix of country meets urban.
It’s definitely the work of a professional interior designer.
There isn’t a speck of dust.
The stark contrast in our residential abodes highlights just how far apart our worlds are. I’m reminded of who he is and who I’m not.
I can’t believe I let him into my Kentish Town flatshare with charity shop furniture and wine bottle candle holders. He must have thought it was filthy. We have mice, for fuck’s sake.
Why on earth does he want me here? He could have any type of professional model he wanted. Leggy, skinny, curvy, blonde, brown, redhead …
If it’s a conversation he wants, I can’t talk about interior design, what race car to buy, or how hard life is for a CEO.
“You can go in, you know,” his deep Scottish drawl whispers in my ear behind me, and I jump.
I bet Jen and his other ladies don’t stand in the doorway like quivering wrecks.
“It must be a bitch to heat,” I mumble as I take off my sneakers, realising they are covered in dirt.
He shrugs. “There’s underfloor heating in most of the rooms. But the best thing is the two real turf fires. Nothing beats the smell of a real turf fire. I’ll give you a tour.”
He follows me in and gently peels off my jacket, his hand grazing my bare arm.
“You’re nervous?” He arches his eyebrows, surveying me.
I chew on my lips as he brushes a lock of hair away from my face. In my bare feet, I have to strain to look up at him.
“A little,” I admit.
“This is a first,” his voice turns teasing. “I’ve never seen you nervous.” His hand goes under my chin to drag my gaze up from the floor. “If it helps, you make me nervous too.”
“I doubt that,” I reply breathlessly. “Why would I make you nervous?”
“Are you kidding?” He grins down at me. “You’re fucking terrifying. You take one look at me, and I’m incapable of rational thinking.”
I fight hard to prevent the goofy grin from escaping across my face. Inside, my heart does the bongo against my chest.
“Come on, I’ll get you a glass of wine.” He releases me and pads down the hallway. I follow him into a kitchen/breakfast room with beautiful, exposed brick walls and more state-of-the-art appliances than NASA. I bet only his cleaner knows how to use half of them.
“I’ve decanted a bottle of Pinot Noir. Does that sound OK?” he asks, bending down to get a wine glass from the cupboard, providing me with a view of that glorious backside.
“Sure,” I reply, with fake confidence, cringing at the memory of asking him if he wanted a drink in my flat.
If he knew the crap my flatshare drank at this hour on a Saturday morning, he wouldn’t ask me if I was concerned about whether my wine was decanted.
He hands me the glass.
“You live here alone?” I ask. I can’t imagine living somewhere this size by myself. So far in my 28 years of life on earth, I am yet to experience living alone.
“Cheers.” He lifts his glass to mine, and he anchors his attention back to me. “Yes. Just me.”
My eyes widen. “How many bedrooms?”
“Five bedrooms, two reception rooms,” he responds in amusement. “You were expecting me to live in some glass box in the middle of the sky in central London.”
“With a swimming pool and strippers’ pole.” I smirk. “I didn’t imagine suburbia. Don’t you get lonely here?” I ask. Then I roll my eyes. “I expect you have a lot of company.”
He shoots me a warning look. “I’ve lived alone since my marriage broke down. Over a decade now.” He shrugs. “I’m used to it. Karl sometimes stays here when he’s in town.”
My brows shoot up. Is Karl here?
“Tonight, it’s just us.” He smiles at me suggestively, and a current of excitement flows through me.
Tonight, he’s mine, all mine.
“Come, I’ll give you a tour.”
He takes my hand and directs me from room to room, explaining each room’s quirks and history. It’s minimalist but classic and stylish, like a show home. His cleaner must come every day.
“I can’t believe I let you into my flat,” I mutter, following behind him. “Into my squalor of a bedroom. How embarrassing.”
He stops at the foot of the grand staircase, raising a brow in amusement. “I was delighted to see the inside of your bedroom. I wasn’t there for the decor.”
He nods for me to advance up the stairs. “I happen to like your bedroom. It’s creative. It reflects your personality.”
“Gee, thanks,” I hit back sarcastically. “It’s an attic room with a skylight for a window and furniture sourced from the local charity shops. What does that say about my personality?”
I walk up the stairs feeling uncharacteristically out of breath. Maybe it’s because he is tailing me with a full view of my backside. Or the fact that there is one crucial room I haven’t seen yet.
“How long have you lived here?” I babble as we reach the top of the stairs.
“Five years, give or take,” he says, leading me along the top hallway.
“I bet you weren’t living in an attic room when you were my age.”
“No. I was living in the obnoxious penthouse apartment in Kensington. Exactly as you imagined.” His deep brown eyes lock onto mine. “Tristan would buy you an apartment in a heartbeat, Charlie. Let him. You can live somewhere without mice, for God’s sake.”
“Is that what you think of me?” Bitterness fills my mouth. If I had a pound for every time someone said that to me that I’d be as rich as Tristan. “I’m useless without Tristan’s money?”
He stops abruptly and turns to face me. “When did I ever give you the impression I thought you were useless? On the contrary …” Danny leans closer, and I feel the warmth of his breath on my forehead. “I think you are sensational.”
His eyes move down to my parted lips like a lion stalking their next meal. My skin tingles in anticipation as I rise up on my tiptoes to inch closer to his face.
Enough word foreplay. I’m aching for him to destroy me, to rip me to pieces.
“I need to finish your tour,” he says softly.
He pushes open the door to reveal a vast country-style rustic master bedroom with high ceilings and an antique-looking chandelier hanging from the centre.
I gasp and do circles around the room.
My jaw drops as I look out onto the balcony offering unobstructed views across the River Thames. “This is your view when you wake up,” I say to myself more than him.
“It’s more homely than I was expecting,” I murmur as I trail my slightly shaking hand over his oak furniture. “And so tidy. Do you even sleep here?”
I recognise the King size bed frame as a Chesterfield. I’m tempted to run and jump on it, but it’s been made with such precision I don’t want to ruin the work of art.
How many women have slept in that bed, I wonder?
Instead, I meander into an enclave of the bedroom.
“You have a walk-in wardrobe?” I stare at him incredulously, running my hand across the rows of expensive suits. He is a man of precision. All ties are neatly folded into position and colour coordinated. His shoes are lined up, each pair together. “This is the same size as my bedroom. Do you have a personal stylist as well as an interior designer?”
He leans against the doorway, enjoying my reaction. “I have a tailor that I go to.”
“This is why your suits are moulded to you like freaking Batman. The ensuite?” I push open the second door beside the walk-in wardrobe, and he follows slowly behind me.
A freestanding white luxurious bath stands centerpiece, so clean it looks like it’s never been used, and a walk-in shower to the side with enough room to host an orgy.
How many women has he had in the bath? In the double shower? Maybe not even one at a time.
It smells of him, but none of his products are on display. Where is all his clutter? Even the soap dispensers blend into the decor like art structures.
“Underfloor heating.” I curl my feet on the warm floor.
Taking up floor-to-ceiling space on one of the walls is a deluxe mirror with lighting bordering it.
He appears in the mirror behind me, his dark eyes holding mine, and I remind myself to breathe.
“Do you like what you see?” he whispers behind me, making the hairs on my neck stand to attention.
I can’t wait to have this man buried deep inside me.
“Yes,” I rasp.
In the mirror, his eyes unashamedly watch my lips. “See how breathtaking you are,” he says in a low growl, his breath tickling my ear.
I stand frozen, swallowing the nervous lump in my throat.
His hands possessively tighten around my hips. “You’re driving me out of my fucking mind.” His voice is dark and husky, almost angry.
The mirror lighting throws shades on his jawline, making him look equally beautiful and predatory. This man is miles apart from any man I’ve been with before.
My breathing catches as he pushes away the hair from my shoulder and starts kissing my neck first softly, then with urgency and aggression.
He’s so tall he has to hunker down to reach my shoulders. His touch burns a trail down my neck, and I squirm restlessly against him, moaning.
I feel him grow and press against my lower back. I grind my backside into his cock, and he lets out a low groan.
His hands roam across my chest, finding my hardening nipples through my sweater.
“Hands up,” he murmurs against my neck, and I put both arms in the air as he pulls the sweater off. It tugs on his watch, and a thread unravels. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
I’m wearing a strappy top and a black lace bra. Watching in the mirror, he pushes the strappy top down to my stomach and unclips my bra so that my breasts fall loose.
His eyes bore hungrily into my naked chest in the mirror, a slow sexy smile lighting up his face.
His hands engulf my breasts, stroking and squeezing my rock-hard nipples, then travel down the front of my jeans. From behind me, he undoes my jean buttons. Gripping them in his hands, he slides them down, pulling my panties with them also.
I lift my legs up and out of the jeans so that I’m standing completely naked in front of him.
His jaw drops open as he takes in my complete naked form looking at me like he’s never seen a naked woman. There’s so much hunger on his face it terrifies me.
Has anyone ever looked at me this way before?
“This doesn’t seem fair,” I murmur through a nervous laugh. “I’m naked and on display, and you are fully dressed.”
“It’s fair. I’ve waited so long to see this. To see you.”
His hands roam down between my inner thighs, and he pushes my legs apart.
Thank God I waxed. I flinch as he spreads my lips apart down there with his fingers, showing everything.
Something feral sounding escapes him.
“You shouldn’t have waited so long,” I whimper as he pushes a finger inside my wetness and starts exploring.
His jaw clenches. “We both know I’m not allowed to. I made a promise.”
I cry out as he finds my clit. “Yes … that’s good … keep going,” I gasp through ragged breath.
He presses me up against him, and I roll my head back on his chest. He’s a full head above me in the mirror. He breathes heavily against me, his jaw slack in the mirror as he watches. “I can’t be around you and keep my distance.”
He groans at the sound of my growing arousal. “Watch in the mirror, sweetheart. Every time you play with yourself, I want you to imagine it’s this moment. That it’s me getting you off.”
I don’t disclose that I already do that.
We watch his hands as he strokes faster and deeper.
He pulses his fingers against my clit, and I feel heat and chills simultaneously up and down my body.
I rock my head back against his chest, moaning as pleasure ripples through my core. My hands tighten around the arm holding me against him.
“Good girl.” His eyes blaze with determination.
My legs feel like they are going to collapse. He holds me upright with one arm as he continues to relentlessly stimulate my clit with his fingers.
“Ah,” I scream. “Please, Danny.”
The orgasm crashes over me as my legs give in, and he catches my weight with his other arm. I cry out so loudly there’s an echo around the bathroom.
Giving me no time to recover, he flips me around to face him, hitching me up in his arms so that my breasts are in his face.
I shriek as he pulls one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking hard. Then he carries me out of the bathroom, back into the bedroom, and throws me down on the bed.
I bounce then the mattress moulds around me. I could sleep on this baby for a week.
He advances on top of me, taking each breast in turn, sucking hard and aggressively.
I grab handfuls of his hair and pull as he pinches my nipple in his teeth. A mix of pain and pleasure.
My sex aches to be touched.
I wrap my legs around his still fully clothed body and moan. His hard-on grinds aggressively in the pulsing apex between my thighs, his face fighting impatience.
I grab the bottom of his T-shirt and tug. I need more. I need him.
He releases my nipples from his mouth and sits up, letting me peel the T-shirt off him.
His broad chest is how I imagined, better if that’s possible. How does he maintain these muscles? His chest is sprinkled with dark hair and faded scarring across his chest. On his upper arm, there is a black and white mythical Norse tattoo, and the inside of the opposite forearm has a tribal design tattoo with writing. I stroke his chest, making a mental note to ask him about them later.
“These need to come off too,” I pant, grinding my bare pussy against his covered legs. I fumble with his jean buttons, and he moves to help me, unfastening them at speed.
He pulls the jeans off along with his boxers, and his massive, hard cock springs free. It stands up hard and thick, just inches from my belly.
I’ll never be able to take him.
He grins, watching my shock. “Scared?”
I gawk at it. “That thing will never fit.”
He chuckles, bending down to put his lips on mine. “Don’t worry, we’ll start gently.”
His head travels downwards, and he pushes open my thighs as far as they will go leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
“Wait, Danny,” I stammer, trying to close my legs around his head. “I’ve never let a man do that before.”
Jerking him off in the toilets was an anomaly. I’m actually a bit of a prude. Vanilla sex is my forte.
He looks up in surprise. “You’ve never had a man’s mouth down here before?”
I shake my head, embarrassed at my lack of sexual experience. “You’re probably used to women swinging upside down from the chandelier.”
His mouth twitches. “Why not, sweetheart?”
“I’ve always been worried they wouldn’t like it,” I explain, blushing. “Like the taste of me, I mean …” My voice trails off.
His jaw slackens. “You cannot be fucking serious? I’ve been fantasising about tasting you all night.” He groans, his voice thick with arousal: “Every time I see you, I imagine what it’s like to go down on you.”
Holy fucking shit.
The way this man talks to me. Boyfriends never talk this dirty, this openly. I feel like a goddess.
He moves upwards and cups my face in his hands. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”
I stutter, and an incoherent whimper comes out. My mouth isn’t connected to my brain.
“Do you trust me, baby?” his voice softens.
I nod, and he gently prizes my legs open. His lips press back against mine as he kisses me like he’s starved. It’s a wet, messy and urgent kiss, two people not holding back, devouring each other.
I close my eyes and grab handfuls of his hair.
His fingers travel downwards and stroke my wet opening. He slides two fingers deep inside me and pulses gently. I grind against him to push the fingers deeper as my arousal starts to build.
He slips them out of me and pushes them into his mouth, sucking them slowly.
“Best course of the day.” He grins darkly as his head sinks down into my thighs. He lifts my leg over his shoulder, and I feel him gently widen my lips with his fingers.
I inhale sharply as his tongue dives deep into my opening with no warning. I resist the urge to close my legs as he eats me, licking and sucking relentlessly around my clit.
My pussy clenches around his tongue as it enters again and again, and I don’t know if I will survive this.
I arch my back and let out a scream, pulling hard on his hair.
So this is why he lives in a secluded area.
As he sucks hard on my engorged bud with the skill of a man who has done it many times before, another earth-shattering orgasm bubbles up inside me as I spasm around his tongue.
The sound of my wetness slapping on his tongue fills the air, and he grunts in appreciation.
“So good,” he growls into me. “Come for me, Charlie.”
I’ve lost all shyness, all inhibitions. All that matters is that he keeps sucking down there. Consumed with unprecedented desire, I clench his head in a vice as his sucking intensifies.
I can’t hold it anymore.
I gasp for air as my body takes over, and my arousal shoots through my swollen flesh, my legs shaking as I release.
Oh. My. GOD.
Why did I wait so long to let a man do this? Although I doubt any other man’s tongue could do this to me.
He steadies his breathing, and he comes up again to my mouth, kissing me hard. I taste myself on his lips.
“Do you know what a turn-on it is knowing I’m the only one to have ever tasted you?” He groans into my mouth. “I could come just thinking about it.”
He presses his body down on mine, and I feel every muscle, every curve of his perfect sculpture.
Truth to be told, I’ve never had multiple orgasms in one night.
With Ben, I’d become a bit of a faker. Now, here with Danny Walker, I’m trying to reign myself in. Everything about him reminds me of sex. How he stares at me, what he says to me, how he breathes.
Even offering that decanted wine turned me on.
His hardness presses against my inner thigh, and he kisses me, bearing his weight with his biceps.
I wrap my legs around his hips and push myself into his rock-hard dick so that it grows slick with my juices, making me shiver with the promise of what’s to come.
We are skin on skin now, impatiently grinding against each other.
I can’t get enough of this man, my thirst for him is insatiable.
My hand reaches down to curl around the base of his cock. I want, no, need, to taste him like he tasted me.
I push him off me, forcing him to rise from the bed then drop to my knees in front of him.
“Your turn,” I murmur.
We stare at each other as I take him in my hands and slide my lips over the head of his shaft. He lets out a moan, and I take more of him in my mouth, inch by inch.
The shallow sucking becomes deeper, and he thrusts into my mouth with heavy breaths. I swallow the urge to gag as he grabs a handful of my hair and pushes himself in so deep that he hits the back of my throat.
His eyes fix on me as the moist sounds of my sucking fill the bedroom, along with his ragged breathing.
“Charlie,” he growls. “Fuck, that feels so good.”
My jaw aching, I resist the gag reflex and take him hard, again and again.
“No,” he says in a strangled voice, pulling my hair back gently. I ignore his pleas and keep thrusting.
“Charlie,” he rasps, pulling himself away so that he swings free from my mouth. “I’m too close already.”
His length glistens at my eye line, coated with wetness.
I stare up at him in question.
“I want to come inside you.” His voice is dark and raspy. “Are you on the pill?”
I nod.
“Good. I’m going to fill you up with my cum.”
Holy God, this man talks dirty.
I smirk up at him. “You know, with chat like that, you’d make a good porn star.”
He pulls me onto my feet and throws me down onto the bed, climbing on top of me. My legs clamp around him, digging my heels into his buttocks.
“I want you in me. Now,” I demand, digging my nails into his back.
With our eyes locked, he strokes his shaft across my wet slit. My clit quivers as he teases me, and I arch my back into his groin. “Please, Danny.”
I glare at him like I’m starved, and he grins back at me, eyes drowning in arousal, before pushing the head of his shaft into my slit, first gently before slamming into me with his erection.
I whimper as my core reacts to his size.
Cursing, he eases the pressure, thrusting gently, stretching me until I visibly relax.
“You OK, sweetheart?” he whispers.
I nod, unable to speak, grinding my knees against his hips.
He thrusts into me at just the right spot, and I moan hard against his mouth, feeling another orgasm rising up in my core. It’s too soon.
“I’ve been dreaming about being inside you for a long time.” Heat floods his eyes as he stares at me. “For my cock to fill your tight pussy.”
I roll my head back, moaning. “Do you know how good this feels?” I press his buttocks into me so that he goes deeper.
“You want deeper?” he whispers hoarsely.
“Yes,” I cry out.
He pumps harder. Until he is buried to the hilt, and he can’t possibly get any deeper in me.
“That feels so fucking good,” I moan.
A growl rumbles from his throat as my muscles clench hard and territorial around him.
“Damn,” he moans, sweat glistening on his forehead. “I’m going to come quickly if you keep doing that.”
I grab his hair hard as my entire body shudders with the pressure of him thrusting in and out repeatedly until I can’t hold on any longer. Another orgasm rips through me even more powerful than the last.
His cock pulses furiously in retaliation, and I feel every movement as he comes deep inside me, his warm liquid pumping fast and furious into me.
We collapse back onto the bed, both panting, our skin sticking together with sweat and arousal. I melt into the bed covers, elated, exhausted, raw.
He runs a hand lazily over my sweat-soaked body, and I turn my head to face him. His dark eyes hold mine, and something passes between us. An acknowledgement, a recognition.
This wasn’t just good sex. This was the best sex of my life. And the way he is staring at me right now? He agrees one hundred percent.
“Stop staring at me like that.” I smirk.
He smiles, trailing a finger along my cheek and down my neck. The lights of the River Thames cast shadows over his masculine jaw, and I take in his features in awe. Without a doubt, right now, I’m the luckiest girl in London.
“You’re heart-stopping,” he whispers. “I’m not sure my poor heart can take this.”
His large thigh shifts on top of me, crushing me as if he’s forgotten how much heavier he is than me.
“Come on.” He rouses from the pillow. “Before we fall asleep in this mess. Let’s get you clean again.”
“I’m not sure I can make it to the shower.” I giggle. “I might need a walking stick.”
I don’t know what’s happening between us, but one thing’s for sure, I’ll never be able to go back from this.
