Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

As we finish the meal, I draw the curtains, the short winter day already fading. The flames set light and shadow dancing across the room. They flutter over her hair, gilding the highlights, deepening the lowlights as she sits on the thick rug by the hearth, her legs tucked under her.

“You want to make love,” she whispers. It’s not a question.

“Yes. You?”

“Yes.”

We need no more words.

Her mouth is a sensual curve as she rises. I slip my hand into hers, leading her to the bedroom, and her lips a little parted, she follows.

Her face raises to mine, reaching for me. And it’s not the hooker with her client. It’s Mitch…

My Mitch…

… wanting me…

Our lips brush, then press. She’s warm, her flesh yielding, soft and tasting of the wine. Her fingers tangle into my hair and her mouth opens, the kiss deepening.

The music, soft and evocative spills through from the lounge. I pull her to me, but abruptly she breaks away, kicking off her shoes, and barefoot, she dances. Languidly, beautifully, slowly, she dances for me.

She’s hypnotic, spell-binding; weaving sorcery as I watch, with the music and the swaying of her body…

The dress, its teal-green silk, whispers as she moves. Her long hair is a cloud of red and gold, and her emerald eyes are jewels.

She reaches for me, her long pale arms outstretched, and laughing for sheer joy. “Dance with me?”

Taking her in my arms, one hand at her shoulder, the other nested at the base of her spine, together we sway and glide to the music which trickles around us.

So close, she smells of some perfume she’s wearing. It rises from within the silk like a drug, and like a drugged man, I stoop to lift her and carry her to the bed.

“Do you like it?”

“Like what?”

“The apartment.”

“Yes, you have a lovely home.”

“It's not my home. I bought it for you.”

She stiffens.... “What?”

“It’s not mine. It’s yours. I bought it for you. The deeds are in your name.”

“Put me down.”

“Mitch…”

“Put me down, you bastard.”

Confused, I release her, helping her stand again. She pulls away from me, her eyes slitting. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

“Mitch, it’s a gift. That’s all. I just wanted to give you what you deserve.”

“Don't you try to trap me,” she hisses. “Don't you dare try to trap me. Was that the plan all along? Get the little bird in its golden cage? Make me beholden to you? Own me?” She snatches up her shoes, jamming her feet inside. “You can go to hell!”

“Mitch. I didn't... I want to make you free. Give you choices...”

“Choices, eh?” she snarls. “The main one to be your chattel. Your property…”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No. Mitch, it’s a gift, no more than that.”

“An apartment? Just a gift? Flowers and chocolates, yes. Even jewellery…” She grabs up behind her neck, fumbling at the clasp of the necklace of emeralds before tugging it away and tossing it onto the bed.

“Yes, just a gift.”

so I can just accept all this…” She sweeps an arm around the room and to the door… “… and then tell you

Don’t do that. Mitch, I

says. “This has gotten thoroughly out of hand. I can’t imagine what you thought you were doing.” She turns, heading for the door. “You’d better make arrangements to reclaim your

put it in your

“Really? You actually

what I have to say to convince you. It’s yours. Legally. A gift. To you. From me. If you did throw me out of your life,

head falls, her throat

here a few days? I'm going to be away for the next couple of weeks. I wouldn't be here.” Her eyes shift to mine. “You'd be free to think. To make up your own mind without me around. You wouldn't

holds; still, almost frozen, save for the rise and fall of

you the things you deserve. Without you having to… Without you having to... work.” She slow-blinks, her eyes softening. “You can always go back to your old place if you

again. “My

own place then, if that makes you happy. It's not going anywhere.

so where do you fit into this then? Am I supposed

Live off that. Or you could paint. Sell your work. You have a real talent. And you’d be able to spend as much time as you wanted

watches me sidelong, listening, but some of the heat is fading

tension eases from her. Before my eyes, she’s relaxing. “Come have some more wine. We’ll sit together, talk. No more,

We’ll talk. But I’m not promising

That’s all I’m

*****

lie in the cold embrace of one of the twin beds, staring into

the blankets. “Got those pyjamas here?” she asks. She’s

“I do, yes.”

we sleep in

*****

wakefulness, I know that I’m being watched. My eyes snap open to meet Mitch’s, her head above mine, propped

supposed to make

“Anything you want, Mitch.”

mine. “Where were

her shoulders, I pull her close. “I want you.” I move a hand to clasp the curve of her

voice is a honeyed growl. “I thought we'd agreed we would make love

“Are the two incompatible?”

are.” Hooking a finger into the waistband of the pyjamas, “Get rid

to every movement, I tug the damn things away and she Mmmms, running a fingertip over my length, then gliding circles over the head. I can’t help myself, groaning and gasping as the pleasure tightens my groin and

herself up, slinging a leg across me, straddling me, the shirt dangling to cover her vee’d thighs. She doesn’t touch me, doesn’t take me inside herself, but the heat of her bathes me, my shaft basking in the

on mine, she slips open the bottom button of the shirt, then the second. Slowly she moves

She’s done this for me before, when I was paying her, when she was just the woman I’d

Is that all?

Affection… perhaps?

She likes me.

She does like me…

that all

Could it be more?

Be patient…

contrast to the valley between. I raise my arms, warm flesh filling each palm, her nipples small hard pearls, and the scent

Aroused?

Yes…

that did that

I’m sure of it…

…

…

Take your time…

Take her slowly…

up, to jack-hammer into her, to fill her with myself, but I don’t, biting down

What I want…

perfection that sends her reeling and me tumbling after her. When I know that I’ve given her what no-one else ever

away from the weight of her breasts, they slide flat down the line of her stomach. She tensions, her belly taut under my touch, but it’s not the tension of stress or denial. Her thighs, arched

She wants me…

She wants me….

stroke the delicate skin of her thighs, working inward. With the other, I draw long, soft strokes inside, the lightest of

falls

and it is the sweetest sound I